


Veridis Quo, Book One: Introductions

by AxisAMP



Series: Veridis Quo [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Banter, Cameos of Canon Characters, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Crucible (Destiny), Drama, Fluff, Gen, Post-Apocalypse, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:55:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 48,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25478758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AxisAMP/pseuds/AxisAMP
Summary: A new Guardian rises from a dangerous place into an even more dangerous world. Thrust into a life beyond all imagining, he attempts to reconcile a new body, a new world, and a power entrusted to him by an otherworldly entity.Eyes up.Act One complete! I'll be on a brief hiatus to chill write and play Beyond Light before uploading again hopefully in January.I’m gonna be putting images for the stuff I describe in my work in a MEGA folder for visual reference.https://mega.nz/folder/T1gRnTxJ#ROp6LcF4dkmhSXfa2twjTg
Series: Veridis Quo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978144
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	1. A Plagued Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every Guardian has a beginning. This is his.

A purple light in the black.

A light?

He went to rub his eyes, and looked down; there were no eyes to rub, nor hand to rub them. A dream. A hallucination. How long had he been in the black? What happened? How could this have happened to–

His thought process was interrupted by the purple light suddenly growing in size; if he had a body to compare it to, he would say it had grown to be twice his size, floating gently above him. As he looked into it, he felt a strange sensation. _Me._ As the word reverberated through his mind, he swore he could see another light, just barely blinking within the violet.

“...” A voice! Sound! Life, sentient life, breathing and speaking and known! He tried desperately to recall the last time he’d heard a voice...until he heard the voice slowly fill with clarity.

“...ardi...” The voice sounded static, almost as if coming through a radio. Though no radio he’d ever heard had sounded this clear. When it spoke, that little light behind the violet grew, ever so slightly, and with every thought he could muster he compelled his non-corporeal form, his consciousness, to move towards it. “Guard...” Guard? Was this voice his protector? 

_Guard._ The word reverberated. _Protect. Serve._ Why did these words echo through his brain? Who or what held this mind in their hands before him?  
  
“Guardian?”   
  
Guardian. A question. _Is it referring to me?_ It. That’s rude. The voice was decidedly male. _He_ called out again. “Guardian. One second.”   
  
The little light in the violet faded for a brief second, then exploded.  
\-------------------------------------------------

Clouds hung low over the Old Russian Cosmodrome. _Looks like rain._ The fires of the Keep burned in the distance, smoke billowing from its roof. Roars, cries and interminglings in a language not known echoed in the distance. Before even thinking about them, he knew their origins. A shrill, alien shriek. _87 meters south._ Laser weapons fire. _200 meters northeast._ A muffled, yet unmistakable explosion. _56 meters west, inside the burning tower._ Snow covered the landscape, but it was too warm to stick around for long. _Cold?_  
  
“Guardian!” _Behind you._  
  
The man burst forth from his resting place like a lightning bolt, hands balled into fists, and whirled around; a shape, like a sleek metal diamond, hung suspended in the air before him. Bluish-white light hummed through grooves throughout the diamond, and as it did, the diamond spoke.  
  
“Good, you’re alive.” The voice was _him._

“Who the hell are yo-” He stopped himself. His voice felt gruff. Deep, almost intimidating. Digital, as though it was broadcast through a vocoder. But more than that, unfamiliar.  
  
“Don’t move too much, Guardian.” The diamond began to circle the man, and the bluish-white light within projected outward, spreading over different parts of his body as it explored him. “Checking for any malfunctions or intrusions.”  
  
“That’s not an answer.” The Guardian looked down at his hands, seeing servos and mechanics where a part of his consciousness believed he’d see flesh. He couldn’t answer why he wasn’t surprised; he should be horrified. His body is gone, replaced with cold steel and artificial intelligence. But for some reason, he still felt at home. This body was unequivocally his. It always has been--or, at least, as long as he could remember, which wasn’t much at all.  
  
“Good. No malformations, no intrusions, no malfunctions, no DER indicators. You’re all good.” The diamond finally rose back to the Guardian’s eye level. “I’m Ty. I’m a Ghost. Well, actually, I guess now I’m _your_ Ghost.”  
  
“Uh huh.” The Guardian looked around some more. The darker, hanging clouds were drawing closer, and yet the fires and smoke billowing from the tower across from him only intensified.

“Yeah, that tower’s still kicking, even without a leader.” Ty looked out at it along with his Guardian. “Got nothing on ours, though.”  
  
“Ours?”

“That’s the important bit. I gotta get you outta this area ASAP, and that’s gonna mean setting off a lot of alarms, scaring a lot of people with guns, and ticking off a _lot_ of Fallen.”   
  


“Fallen?” the Guardian asked, and like a siren call, the moment the word left his mouth, a guttural roar echoed from across the field. His vision narrowed to the entrance to the structure that supported the tower, when he saw it. A creature, unmistakably not human, emerged from the base. Two long, armored hands swung open a steel door, and behind him several other creatures could be seen skittering behind him. But behind his shoulder blades he could make out a black, sleek diamond shape, out of which extended two more arms--mechanical, like his own--holding two devices crackling with electricity. The Exo’s extremities began to feel as though on pins and needles, as though he could feel the crackling within, making the proverbial hairs stand on end.  
  
The Guardian gently pointed to the four-armed creature. “Fallen?”  
  
“Fallen. Run.” the Ghost began flying down towards the lake.   
  
"Wait! Where are we going?!" The Guardian’s vision followed, and he could see another structure in the distance: A towering wall, faded, but ever-present.   
  
“We’ve gotta get to the Wall. Now!”   
  
The Guardian followed his metal companion through fields of barren land and rusted buildings, until they reached what looked like a massive series of warehouses. He tried to ponder what they could’ve been before. A dock? A refueling station? A research facility? Every downtime between the Fallen battle cries that would shock him into a burst of action was spent thinking about the world that gave birth to things like this. What utter beauty lived within these walls, and why did whoever made them leave them to ruin?  
  
The Ghost led him into a long hallway, away from the rallying of Fallen taking place outside. It-- _he_ \--bobbed in midair slightly, as though breathing heavily. The Guardian chuckled at the prospect--a machine replicating human breathing--until taking another look at himself. Were they not being chased by a small platoon of scavengers, he might have laughed out loud. The Ghost’s seemingly-facetious action brought to light something else interesting; he wasn’t tired. No fatigue in the slightest. At least three miles, top speed, no stops till now, and he felt like he could run three more--  
  
A creak. _Plasma weapon charge._ _Four meters. Above._ _  
_ _  
_Before he could even register the action, the Guardian dove out from behind cover, grabbing the Ghost in both hands and sliding behind a support pillar. Three shots of light plasma fire rang through the hall, and from behind the pillar he could make out three burning holes in the hallway floor from where they penetrated. His head peeked out from behind the pillar to get a look at his assailant.  
  
This creature heavily resembled the one he saw in the tower, but had a series of stark differences; this one was shorter, with a hunched back and more emaciated features; its head lacked the identifying horns, and its eyes lacked the additional two its superior had; more starkly, though, it lacked the third and fourth arms afforded to it by its Captain. The Guardian could make out what looked like plating on the neck and upper back. Were they lost, or removed? Out of necessity, or punishment?   
  
Three more shots force the Guardian’s head back behind the pillar. Somewhere in his brain, he could feel a hundred subroutines scanning a thousand variations of weaponry he had no memory of seeing before.   
  
“Repeater pistol,” the Guardian and his Ghost said in tandem. They exchanged a look. Something about the way the light concentrated on the fringes of its shell evoked the familiar expression of a furrowed brow, as though to ask, _how did you know that?_ The Exo pointed faintly at his temple, shrugging the same shoulder as though to say, _Beats me. Guess this head’s got more than me in it._

The Guardian took...whatever he could approximate as a deep breath, and punched the pillar behind him, dislodging some stone from the support beam. He palmed the biggest piece in his hand; it was about the size of a basketball, and should’ve easily weighed a good fifty pounds, but his arm barely registered the weight at all. Another deep breath, peeking out from behind the pillar once more to gauge the distance.  
  
A clicking of jaws. _Plasma weapon charge. Seven meters._ Now.  
  
The Guardian once again took cover as the weapon fired another three rounds into the floor next to him, and immediately threw the chunk of stone into the ceiling where the creature hung in response. A loud, sharp creak of collapsing steel rang through the hall, followed by an inhuman scream as the creature fell to the ground with a thud. He immediately rushed out to meet the creature, tangled in a mess of crumbled stone and sharp metal beams keeping it in place as it reached desperately for its pistol. The Guardian picked it up; it was crude, resembling a hodgepodge of fractured technologies jury-rigged together into a usable firearm, but seemed simple enough to use. Clattered a bit further away was what resembled a dagger, which Ty floated over as the Guardian leveled the pistol at his quarry’s temple and fired.  
  
The sound of the weapon going off in his hands somehow rang different from when it was being fired at him. The last gasp of air from the creature’s disheveled mouth as its head hit the floor, a faint sizzle from the pool of blood beneath it as the burning-hot wound cauterized itself against it. Yet, his hand was still. Motionless. This wasn’t a feat of machinery; he very clearly understood that his body was able to mimic human expressions, and he knew that his emotions would still show in his body language. This wasn’t that. It was simple for him. Easy. He immediately pulled the slide back, revealing the blaster’s plasma battery--the things his brain was keeping from him unsettled him deeply-- and walked over to Ty, grabbing the dagger. A small button was concealed in its concave pommel; pressing it startled the Guardian, as an electric current immediately began to run through the blade for a few seconds before ebbing.   
  
“Scary weapons,” he uttered, stowing the knife in his tucked-in shirt. He felt like he shouldn’t have found it so easy to kill...whatever that thing was.  
  
“Suffice it to say, the Fallen are scavengers,” his Ghost explained, emitting a white light to guide him through the rapidly-darkening hallways. “Take whatever they can find, turn it into something they can use. Convert organic compounds into food supply. That was a Dreg, basically a grunt.” Ty proceeded to lead the Guardian to a room, containing a series of control panels. “Here. Found the access door.” The Ghost emitted its usual red light, and the Guardian watched as a large steel door was bathed in showers of luminescent red. “Now, you’re an Exo, so you should have a comms array built into that head of yours.”  
  
“Comms array?” The moment he said it, he felt something where his ears should be. It was noise, but not that he was hearing; it was in his head, like static behind his Ghost’s words. “Comms array. Got it.”  
  
“Yup.” The Guardian could hear shifting metal and clicking gears as Ty proceeded to undo the array of locks that sealed what he just came out of...out. “Once this door’s open, we’re gonna head down a turbine room. Big fan. The moment we pass it, your comms array is gonna light up like a Dawning tree.”  
  
“Dawning?”   
  
“Never mind.” The Exo looked to his floating companion. “How long you think we’re gonna be sitting ducks here?  
  
“Two minutes, provided my adapted Golden Age coding language isn’t too rusty. Why?”

“Just have some questions.”

“Shoot.” After a moment of silence, Ty lightly turned to face his Guardian. “Not with the gun.”

The Guardian grabbed an old chair, wheeling it behind a console before sitting down at it, and leveled his pistol at the entrance to their chamber. “You called me an ‘Exo’.”

“Yup. Exomind. Golden Age war machines.” The Guardian looked down at the gun in his hand. “Eventually, after...whatever war they were used for, somebody learned how to upload living minds into their bodies. Give ‘em sentience.”  
  
“So, when you were scanning me earlier..?”  
  
“Checking to see if you were tampered with in any way.”  
  
“Yeah, malfunctions, intrusions, D-E...D-E-something.”

“DER. Dissociative Exomind Regression.”   
  
“Yeah, that.” His brow would have furrowed had he had one. “What the hell is Dissociative Exomind Regression?”  
  
“Well, sometimes--either due to botched jobs, or bad coding, but also sometimes occurring with simple age as a mind goes--a mind transferred into an Exo body starts to dissociate. Forget things, start to think they’re still human, start to detach from reality. Real crazy stuff.”  
  
“Is that gonna happen to me?”  
  
“Like I told you earlier, you got no DER indicators, you’re right as rain.” A faint rumble thrummed through the chamber; the first thunder of the approaching storm. “But if, Traveler forbid, somethin’ _does_ happen to your mind, that’s what reboots are for.”  
  
“Reboots?”  
  
“Yup. Wipes the whole thing. Starts you right over from the top.”  
  
The Guardian contemplates his current state of mind. “That something I’ve been through already?”  
  
“Oh yeah. From your scans, you’re a seventh-generation Exomind.” He looked down at his free hand for a moment. “Don’t worry about feeling old or self-conscious, though. Nearly every Exo alive today’s been rebooted at least three or four times now. You should see the Tower Gunsmith.” The little light chuckled at his remark.

The two heard a loud _ka-chunk_ as the final lock released, and the door began to open with a loud hiss. “Time to go,” Ty said, flying towards his Guardian. The Guardian relaxed his arm, whirling around to rise from the chair, only to find no sign of his Ghost.  
  
“Ty?” he asked through the slowly-opening door.  
  
“Still here.” The Ghost’s voice came through his comms array. “Let’s move.”  
  
The Guardian began a slow track out of the door and into the turbine chamber, placing his back against the outer wall and making his way across. As Ty described, a massive fan, rusted and inert, cast a long shadow through the hallway, and his eyes took a moment to adjust to the light filtering in through the barred end of the chamber. Near the end, Ty emerged from behind his head in a small flash of light, pointing out a rusted door leading outward.  
  
The moment the Guardian shuffled through the guard, he heard a soft metallic whine in his comms array. “Ty, did you hear that?”   
  
“No,” Ty responded, his “face” shining a light forward. “I haven’t synched to your comms array ye--”  
  
Suddenly the Guardian was bombarded with a deafening cacophony of noise, the surprise of which dropped him to the ground.   
  
A blaring alarm. [UNKNOWN ENTITY HAS BREACHED PLAGUELANDS CONTAINMENT. IDENT: EXOMIND.]   
  
A gruff, yet younger-sounding voice, with a digital tone similar to his. “Unknown Ghost, unknown Exomind, come in! I repeat, unknown Ghost or Exomind, come in!”  
  
A deeper, sterner voice, smooth through another channel. “Unknown Exomind, cease ingress immediately and await Guardian extraction. Repeat, stop where you are and await Guardian extraction. Failure to comply may be--”

From squeezed-shut eyes he could barely make out Ty, floating down frantically to check on him. “Guardian! What happened?!”  
  
“Noise! Everywhere! Voices!” the Guardian screamed, trying to crawl through the rest of the hallway. At the very end, he swore he could see more light. The home stretch.  
  
The young Exo voice again. “Commander, with all due respect, _shut up!_ Ghost, is your companion a Guardian? Once again, do you have a Guardian?!”

The Exo’s apparent commander. “Nothing’s leaving that door without clear identification, Shiro! Unknown Exomind, failure to comply with Vanguard instructions may result in lethal force! _Stay where you are!_ ”  
  
“Did your comms array activate? I should’ve taken time to drill you on the mental functions--”  
  
The Guardian rose with a loud yell, one that would’ve strained his vocal cords if he still had them. “ _SHUT UP!_ ” He began a mad sprint, pushing Ty to the side with one hand as he dashed desperately through the hallway. Mere seconds felt like the longest time of his short life, until he wrenched open a second rusted door into--  
  
Silence.   
  
The wind rustled leaves through the grass. _Ten meters northwest._ A distant thundering of the storm he nearly forgot that he was racing to get here. _One mile east._ Birds chirping, nesting in the barrel of what looked to be an ancient tank. _Twenty meters southwest_. What drew him the most, however, was the heat. A gentle warmth washed over his entire being; filtered through his shirt and concentrated in his palms. He looked up, and saw it; a star, brighter than anything he’d ever seen in this world, radiating light and warmth over his entire existence. It took the awe of this sight for him to realize his comms array was no longer active. Just the thought of it brought its existence into a strange sight behind his eyes, overlaying over the beauty he was witnessing. 

Three channels:  
[CHANNEL I: VANGUARD COMMAND. STATUS: MUTE]  
[CHANNEL II: OUTPOST - FELWINTER PEAK. STATUS: MUTE]  
[CHANNEL III: VANGUARD EMERGENCY BROADCAST CHANNEL. STATUS: MUTE]  
  
The Guardian formed a smile; he almost ignored them, captivated by his first sunlight. If not for his distinct recollection of ‘lethal force’, he might’ve left these strangers to their devices, and savored this view a moment longer. He recalled his Ghost mentioning mental functions. Were these functions mentally controlled?  
  
He placed two fingers to where his temple would be. “Unmute Vanguard Comma--”

A blue light, silhouetted by his first sun. A faint, but familiar whine of electricity. _Plasma weapon charge. Fifty-two meters northwest._  
  
“Shit.”

Black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some flavor:
> 
> -Ty is a Tyrant Shell, for anyone wondering what the unusual shape of his Shell was about.


	2. Blacksite / Breakout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Guardian and his Ghost find themselves secreted away, with a familiar voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning felt like the hardest bit to write of this, to be honest, because as I upload this I'm already over halfway done with the next chapter. If I keep this up, keeping to a regular schedule might not be as hard as I thought. Enjoy, and your input is appreciated!

A burst of white light, and then black.   
  
“Shit!” the Guardian gasped, bursting up from the ground with a start. Black, all around. He raised his right hand to aim his shock pistol, to find it empty. “Wha-” His left dug into his tucked-in shirt; no dagger. He felt a faint whirr behind his eyes for a moment, and when he blinked, the world started to come into view. The room was sleeker-looking than anything he’d just finished running through. A door came into view at the wall behind him, and he turned slowly to reach for it--   
  
[GUARDIAN. PLEASE STEP AWAY FROM THE DOOR.]   
  
Suddenly, the room flooded with light, forcing his eyes to adjust once more. He backed away a few steps, when his leg caught something; a chair, as well as a metal table. As a faint alarm blared and the door depressurized, that vision behind his vision began to flash again.  _ Vocal analysis. Results: Frame. 99-40 series. _ Another robot of some kind--not exactly sentient in the same way he was--was operating the security system.    
  
As the Guardian took a seat, the door finally opened, and out of it walked another Exo. He stood upright, yet there was something about his gait; military, yet evoking a certain swagger as he strode across the room to the opposite end of the table. Furthermore, he was clad in a series of armors; from heavy combat boots and reinforced padded leather pants; to plated steel around his gauntlet-clad hands and a lone pauldron adorning his left shoulder; to the long, hooded cloak whose bright yellow, like a reptile, evoked danger to any that dared approach him; to a vest that hummed with electric current even being near it. The Guardian’s nerves tensed at the current, remembering the last time he felt that sensation.   
  
“Wait a second,” the Guardian whispered out loud, and his hand immediately came to his chest with a muffled  _ clank _ . There was no hole. No scarring, no welding, no indication of the plasma rifle blast that he knew hit him just before his vision went dark.   
  
“Guardian,” the other Exo said, pulling a folder from behind his back. His gruff voice sounded familiar. “My name is--”   
  
“I’m not dead,” the Guardian interjected, still coming to grips with the idea that he could be shot through the heart with a plasma weapon and live, let alone not appear to sustain injury.   
  
“No. We’ll get to that. My name--”   
  
“I’m not dead! How the hell am I not dead?!”   
  
“I’m asking the questions here. I’m Shiro--”   
  
“And  _ I’m _ asking how the hell I’m not dead!” The Guardian’s palms hit the table, and suddenly he could hear noises from behind the wall to his right. Muffled, but unmistakable.  _ Automatic weapons. Four. Five meters. _ The Exo calling himself Shiro raised a hand, a look of exasperation crossing his face as he looked to the mirrored-glass wall as though to say, ‘ _ Really? _ ’.

Shiro pulled up a chair of his own, sitting across from the Guardian. “Your Ghost revived you.”   
  
“My Gho--” His head immediately went on a swivel. “Where’s Ty?”

  
“If you mean your Ghost, he’s right behind that wall. Using our tech to scan you for any physical intrusions or protocol hacks.”   
  
“He already scanned me when he woke me up, I’m fine.”   
  
“Well, given the hellhole you just walked out of, forgive us for being less than willing to take you at your word.” Shiro lowered his cloak, revealing a head whose yellow matched it. “Do you know what you just walked out of?”   
  
The Guardian sighed with exasperation. “All I know is that I just woke up after who-knows-how-long, and had a glowing, flying box tell me I’m a robot.” The Guardian stood up, holding the back of his chair. “I’ve done nothing but get shot at--and hit, mind you--by robots, aliens, and robot-aliens since Ty gave me the single piece of information that I actually have, which is that apparently I’m something called a Guardian and that I’ve gotta get to some Tower or something.”   
  
Shiro let out a similar sigh. “Okay.” He rose from his chair and faced the Guardian, his gaze to the mirror-wall. “Ao, holo-display.”   
  
[ROGER.] The lights suddenly went out in the room, but before the Exos’ eyes could adjust, a triangular platform in the center of their table began to flash with light. It swirled with innumerable colors, before finally coalescing into a bright white. The Guardian backed away a few steps, and as he did so he saw that it was projecting an image; a sphere, radiating energy, looming over a sprawling metropolis.   
  
“That…” Shiro had taken advantage of the Guardian’s awe to take position behind him, pointing at the sphere. “...is the Traveler.”   
  
“I...it…” The Guardian reached his hand out. Despite its being a projected image, something about it pulled at him, tugged at the core of his being. “...it’s beautiful.”   
  
“It’s also what brought you back to life.”   
  
“What?” He turned to face Shiro.   
  
“The Traveler showed up around these parts--well, actually, next door to these parts--several centuries ago. Estimates are between seven-hundred to a thousand years, but our records get real shoddy partway through, and that’s because of...” Shiro placed his hands at the fringes of the Traveler, and brought the image inward with a motion of his hands, effectively zooming out to a faraway view of the Earth. “... _ this. _ ” All around it, swirling tendrils and storms of energy erupted through the expanse of space. The mere sight opened a void of fear within the recesses of the Guardian’s mind.   
  
“What the hell is that,” he uttered; his tone was less that of a question than that of acknowledgment.   
  
“That is the Darkness.” Shiro zoomed out further, until the majority of the solar system became visible. “The Golden Age that the Traveler ushered in came to an end when the Darkness came for it.” The Guardian’s eyes darted from planet to planet; from Mercury, slowly being covered in metal; to Venus, cracks forming and stone towers rising as if from nowhere; to Earth, with a black cloud slowly enveloping the Traveler; to Mars, and a looming series of ships the size of continents; to the Asteroid Belt, rife with the wreckage of doomed escapes from the calamity; to Saturn, a massive hole torn in its rings by a strange, inert ship drifting in its orbit.    
  
“One by one, the system of Sol, that we spent the centuries staking claims upon, fell before it. Until one day, the Traveler did something extraordinary.” He zoomed back into the Earth, where the Traveler seemed to be building up a massive amount of energy, and the room exploded in white light for a brief second before darkening completely.   
  
“Where did it go?!” the Guardian asked frantically.   
  
“It sacrificed itself, to save Humanity.” Shiro raised his hood. “But it wasn’t in vain. In that outburst, that dying breath, the Traveler created the means to its own revival…” As the lights came back on, a faint flash of blue light came into view. “...the Ghosts.” Like Ty did with him, from behind Shiro came another Ghost, more spiked in shape and sporting a similarly-matching yellow-and-black paint-job. “Fusions of technology and magic, capable of resurrecting from the dead those who can use the Traveler’s energy…” Shiro raised his hand, and a burst of energy rose from it, coalescing into a ball in the palm of his hand. “...the Light.”   
  
“Wait, so you’re telling me I can do that?” the Guardian asked, pointing at his chest.   
  
“This and more. Here.” Shiro proceeded to roll the ball up in his hands before rolling it along his arms, kicking it like a hackeysack for a few moments before jumping up and snap-kicking the mote into the Guardian’s chest.    
  
“Wha-” The impact sent him flying into the opposite wall, next to the door. Suddenly he could feel electricity coursing through every fiber of his being, from his core where it impacted outward to every extremity. “Oooooh, what the hell is that.”   
  
“That right there is Arc Light. A storm channeled through your very being.” Shiro pulled a knife from his belt and the Guardian watched as he channeled his light through his hand into it, causing it to glow with electric heat. “It’s one of a few different forms in which you can harness Li--”    
  
Ty’s voice came through the room’s intercom. “Guardian! Your scan’s done! You’re all good!”   
  
Shiro gave a louder, more irritated groan, stowing the knife. “Ao, encrypt the intercom feed!”   
  
“Am I free to go now, Mr. Shiro?” The Guardian asked, his patience at an end.   
  
“No. I’ve still got questions.”   
  
“No, I don’t know what ‘hellhole’ I just walked out of. No, I don’t know how Ty got into this place he apparently shouldn’t have been.” He pushed his chair in, moving to the door. “He woke me up, I got ambushed by Fallen, escaped one, killed another, made it outside, took a precision plasma blast to the chest, and the next thing I know I’m being interrogated by an electric-Light-wielding Exo assassin--”   
  
“I’m a scout, actually,” Shiro interjected.   
  
“I don’t care.” He turned around, reaching for the handle of the still-open door. “Nothing’s wrong with me, I’m taking Ty and I’m leavi--”   
  
A gust of wind and a faint spark blew the door shut. His head turned, and Shiro was directly behind him, his hand on the Guardian’s arm.   
  
“Let go,” the Exo uttered.   
  
“You’re not going anywhere until we’re done talking.” Shiro’s grip grew stronger on the Guardian’s arm, bringing it down forcefully to his waist level.    
  
“You’re right.” The Guardian’s finger reached forward, finding a loop. “That’s why we’re done talking.”   
  
In a fluid motion, the Guardian yanked his hand back, ripping Shiro’s knife from his belt. A loud  _ snap _ of breaking leather made a brief echo through the room as the Hunter immediately reached down with his free hand towards his gun holster, only to find it dropping to the floor.   
  
“Shit--” The Guardian whirled around as Shiro reached for his sidearm, roundhouse-kicking him into the table.   
  
“Ty, we gotta go!” the Guardian exclaimed, swinging open the door and taking off down the hallway.   
  
Ty joined him promptly, appearing from a branching hallway on his left. “We got company! A lot of company!”   
  
“I figured! You know where the hell we are?!”   
  
“An outpost called Vostok, on Felwinter Peak.” As Ty uttered the words, the Guardian’s inner-vision showed a schematic of what looked like a mountain observatory. “Good news, it’s not far from the City, and they’ve got good ships here. Bad news--”   
  
“Skip the bad news, where are we going?!”   
  
The duo burst through a door and were met with a blast of cold air. Up the mountain, the Guardian could make out a massive stone structure, far older than the metal buildings making up this area; further down, Ty could make out the beginnings of a tram bay.    
  
“There!” the Ghost exclaimed, and the two began a mad dash down the metallic steps and pathways of the observatory. All around, they made out a multitude of symbols; logos in Old Earth Russian; signs translated into several other Old Earth languages; but the most common, an insignia in green and silver, of two wolves bowing before a great tree. The Guardian kicked open the tram bay door--   
  
Five armored soldiers turned to face the Guardian. Guns drawn.   
  
“Oh,” he and his Ghost said at once. Ty immediately disappeared. "Bad news."   
  
“Corridor,” Ty whispered through his comms array. “Left. Now!”   
  
The Guardian’s eyes darted to his left; a lone hallway bored into the mountainside. He sprinted to the left as the soldiers opened fire, jumping up through the corridor and taking cover behind a corner, looking down at his legs. “That was easily a twelve-foot jump, how did I--”   
  
“Combination of your Exo body and the Light augmenting your body’s limits. Now we gotta move!” The Guardian let out an exasperated grunt as the cave wound in the opposite direction of the tram bay, and was about to leap from the scaffold to head back when Ty noticed something. “Back!”   
  
Before the Guardian could react, a  _ crack _ echoed through the air, forcing him to take cover behind another pillar.  _ Sniper rifle fire. Sixty meters. _ He peeked out for a moment, seeing the faintest glint of a scope coming from the domed structure across from him before another shot rang out. A faint throbbing arced out from his arm, and he looked down; his right arm had been severed just above the elbow by the first shot, and a series of sparks and fluids were dripping out from the exposed…’wound’.   
  
“Shit! Shit, shit, shit…” The Exo grabbed the stump of arm frantically, unsure whether to be horrified at having lost an arm or unnerved by the fact that he barely felt it.   
  
“It’s fine, hold still!” Ty appeared before him, and suddenly a focused light washed over the Guardian’s right arm. Slowly, he watched as the lights emitted from his Ghost coalesced into a wireframe in the shape of his arm, and slowly began to form the skeleton, then the mechanics, then the servos, and finally the armor plating.   
  
“How the hell did you do that?”    
  
“The Light allows me to heal you, to an extent, but it takes time. And patience. I can’t do it while you’re under fire.”   
  
As the Ghost finished repairing him, the Guardian’s eyes darted across the open scaffold to what looked like a stack of crates. “Over there. Weapons.”   
  
“You think you can make it over there?” Ty looked at him, his tone and position portraying his anxiety with his Guardian’s idea.   
  
“One way to find out.” The Guardian peeked out, ducking back after another shot rang, and immediately began a focused sprint down the open hall.  _ Crack. Crack. _ He heard the bullets impact and ricochet across stone and steel, but didn’t stop; his eyes were dead-set on the crates at the end. At the final stretch, he dove behind cover as a last  _ crack _ hit the floor next to his foot, crashing into the crates and into a wall.    
  
“Made it!” the Guardian exclaimed, leveling his back against the steel wall. Even that sniper rifle wasn’t making it through a few inches of hardened steel. He grabbed the first crate he could, cracking it open. Empty. “Oh, no, don’t tell me--” Another crate. Rusted out. A third. Empty. “Come the hell on!”    
  
He opened the last crate, and found a folded up cloth of some sort. He unfurled it, revealing a long blackened cloak. It boasted a long hood, with shoulder padding along the top and back, and that same sigil he kept seeing earlier--twin wolves bowing before a great tree--emblazoned in gold upon it. As he looked on it in surprise, he heard a clattering noise as the last of it unfurled. Looking down, an equal gasp as he found that a gun had been folded in with this cloak.    
  
“Finally!” He picked it up, and the moment his hand settled on the grip, his Exo brain got to work analyzing it. While compact like his previous firearm, it sacrificed burst fire for a much bigger punch. He was slightly captivated by the ornate design of the thing; the core housing seemed to resemble the standard stock of a normal hand cannon, but that was where the similarities ended. The barrel had a rhythmic pattern carved into it out of a separate material, looking much like wood; cloth wrappings adorned the grip; that same sigil branded the underside of the barrel; and just below the muzzle was a long, six-inch bayonet, flanked by two smaller, curved edges under the gun.    
  
Ty emerged for a moment, his Light analyzing the gun himself. “Is this thing even gonna fire? This looks like Dark Age stuff.”   
  
The Guardian searched through the last crate one more time, finding a series of cylinders. “Again, one way to find out.” He stowed five in his belt, loading the sixth.  _ Seven round capacity. _   
  
“I really hope you don’t make this a habit,” Ty said, disappearing once again as the Guardian pulled the pads of the cloak onto his shoulders, the hood over his head.   
  
He took a deep breath, and turned to head down the open path, his sights leveling at the east window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Cloak and Hand Cannon found at the end of this chapter are the Mantle of Perun and the Lingering Song, respectively.


	3. Home Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Guardian confronts his assailant in his bid to escape for the Tower.

_CRACK._   
  
The noise was significantly louder than the repeater pistol, and his arm felt like it might pop off from the recoil; he was nowhere near prepared to fire this thing. He continued his sprint, bracing his right arm with his left as he fired across the way. _Crack-CRACK-crack-crack-CRACK. Crack-CRACK-crack-CRACK-crack._ Ducking behind steel cover at every opportunity, he made it across to the path headed straight in, and peeked over through the south entrance to the dome.   
  
He heard a clattering from inside. _Magazine._ _Twenty-six meters._ An image of a magazine appeared on his HUD. _Six-round capacity._ Whoever it was, they were empty.  
  
He rushed inside, poised to fire the last shot in his magazine through the east window, when a palm pushed his forearm up, forcing the last shot upward and into the roof. He pushed the palm away, slashing with the curved blades along the edge of his hand cannon to repel his assailant. He towered over the Exo by a good foot, and boasted a massive frame, only augmented further by thick armor plating, wolves and branches adorning every inch of it.  
  
“Where do you think you’re goin’, kid?” The man’s voice was gruff, but not antagonistic. The Exo’s eyes narrowed as his HUD kicked in and the man stowed his sniper rifle. _Old Earth, Australian._   
  


“Outta here,” the Guardian replied. “Ty here says I need to get to a Tower not far from here.”   
  
“That’s funny,” the towering man chuckled. “My boss says you’re not on the guest list.” He cracked his knuckles, and the Exo’s vision changed briefly to what resembled infrared as heat began to fly off his fingers. “Security risk.”   
  
“Your boss must’ve not gotten the memo, then.” The Guardian indulged the man’s playful banter. “I’m clean as a whistle.” In the distance, both of them could hear footsteps from the east.  _ Soldiers. Both cave entrances. Seventy meters. _   
  
“I figured as much, otherwise your gold-plated chrome dome would be on a wall about now.” He let out a bit of a hardier laugh at the idea. “Nice moves, stayin’ outta my sightlines like that, by the way.”   
  
“Thank you.” The Guardian smirked, before taking notice of something. “Wait. Did you say my head is  _ gold? _ ”   
  
“Yeah, makes for a good target when it’s not under a hood.” He pointed nonchalantly at the fabric adorning the Exo’s head.   
  
“That’s ridiculous, I stick out like a sore thumb!”   
  
“See, if it were me, I’d maybe hollow it out, make a nice mask out of it…”   
  
“That’s ostentatious.”   
  
“Dunno about that, bruv, but it sure sounds flashy.” The man laughed. “I like you. You gotta name?”   
  
The Guardian looked at him with a bit of bewilderment, before looking down at his own chest. He hadn’t even thought about it. The idea that he was a  _ person _ , not just a robot war machine, or a Guardian, or an instrument of the Light, only just occurred to him as that question took root in his mind.   
  
“N-not yet,” he replied. It was the first time he felt unsure of himself.   
  
“You’re an Exo, give it time. You’ll find one. Make one, take one. Depends on where you’re goin’.”   
  
“I know where I’m going, the To--”   
  
“Yeah, yeah, the Tower, whatever.” The man scoffed, looking towards the window; eight soldiers had automatic weapons aimed at the opening, when he raised both arms in an X-formation:  _ all clear. _ “But from the looks of it, you might make one hell of a Hunter. And Hunters always got someplace else to go.”   
  
“Hunter, huh.” He looked down at the knife stowed in his belt. “Like your boss, Shiro?”   
  
“Hopefully not, bugger’s got a stick up his arse the size of an Arc Staff.” The joke finally pulled a laugh out of the Guardian, and the two shared a hearty laugh that echoed through the dome for a moment before they exchanged a pair of wry smiles.   
  
The man took off his helmet, revealing a human face--black hair, darker skin, brown eyes, and a scar across his forehead--and extended his right hand. “My ship’s outside the west window. When you come to give it back, tell ‘em you’re lookin’ for Liam.”   
  
“Liam.” The Exo shook his hand with a grip as hard as he could to match; it wasn’t enough. “Gotcha.” He turned around to head towards the eastern window--   
  
“Oh, shit, wait!” He whirled around to face Liam. “They’re gonna wonder how you got past me, here!” Liam tossed him his sniper rifle.   
  
“You sure?”    
  
“Best way to cover both our asses, innit? Now go ‘head and shoot me.” Liam put his hands to his chest.   
  
The Guardian looked down at the rifle, then to the knife on his hip. “Nobody’s gonna believe a new Guardian stole a vet’s sniper.” He stowed the rifle, pulling the knife. “Got the drop, though?”   
  
Liam grimaced. “Hate stab wounds. Nasty things. Smart, though.” He begrudgingly pulled back some of the armor plating on his neck. “Right here. Quick and painless. Won’t feel a thing.” His eyes focused for a moment, and he began to tilt his head. “Wait, then you don’t need my sni--”   
  
The Guardian rushed forward, bringing the knife down into and immediately up out of the side of Liam’s neck. Like he said, it was instant. He was dead before he hit the ground. He turned Liam over, grabbing two magazines for the sniper rifle, before heading out and down from the west window.   
  
Ty was already there, analyzing the ship Liam mentioned. It was built like a fighter-jet; a dark-green visage with a slim,single-person pod in front, with sleek fins, highly aerodynamic wings and what looked like twin guns on the underside.   
  
“These things are built to last, Goldilocks,” Ty exclaimed. “Onboard weapons, enhanced armor plating, built-in NLS drive…”   
  
The Guardian opened the cockpit, strapping himself in as Ty sealed it shut. “You call me Goldilocks again, I’m gonna shoot you.”   
  
“Uh-huh. Sure.” The moment Ty disappeared, the ship roared to life, and the docking mechanism anchoring the ship to the outpost began to extend outward. It proceeded to protrude outward another few feet, before angling the ship outward, and the Guardian initiated thrust, taking off out and eastward.   
  
\----------------------------------------------------------   
  
The Guardian engaged the ship’s autopilot once he broke cloud cover. His HUD was a mess of statistics; altitude; barometric readings; horizon lines; required speeds to break planetary orbit; his comms array in the top left, his comms array bringing attention to a muted transmission from Felwinter Peak, probably Shiro; the current statuses of onboard weapons; a stability check for an..NLS drive?; and finally, a waypoint marking the coordinates of the Tower, as input by Ty.  _ ETA: five minutes. _   
  
“Ty?” he asked, leaning the seat back.   
  
“What’s up?” Ty appeared next to him.   
  
“Real talk. How the hell do I know how to do any of this stuff?”   
  
“Well, Exominds were made to be war machines. Presumably, your ‘brains’ were given precepts for combat and tech operations. Weapons, armor, vehicles, certain interfaces.”   
  
“Huh.”

“The further along an Exomind gets, the harder it gets for the mind to keep those precepts. But that’s talking  _ real _ far along.”   
  
“So there’s a bunch of crap I know how to do. That I may or may not actually  _ know _ I know how to do.”   
  
“Yyyyyyup.” They exchanged a look. Something in Ty’s lights and the position in which he floated gave the Guardian the impression of someone shrugging their shoulders.    
  
“You’re just as clueless as I am, aren’t you.”   
  
Ty shook his ‘head’. “Hey, I haven’t interacted with an active Exo in decades, cut me some sla--”   
  
A voice overrides the Guardian’s comms array, playing both in his head and through the ship’s comm speaker. “Incoming Iron vessel, squawk ident for entry.”   
  
The Guardian brought his seat back up, and Ty began transmitting through the ship comms. “Tower Hangar, I have a new Guardian on approach. Seventh-generation Exomind, designation unknown.”   
  
The channel was dead for a moment, then: “Ship on approach is on file as belonging to an active Guardian.”   
  
Ty and the Guardian exchanged a clear ‘ _ oh, shit’ _ look.    
  
“Affirmative. Ship was appropriated under emergency circumstances.”   
  
Dead again. After a longer pause: “Guardian, Ghost, proceed to Bay Two.”   
  
Ty took over the ship’s autopilot, directing it. “Easier than I thought.”   
  
“‘Than you thought’? This is your home, right?”    
  
“I mean, not really. We Ghosts don’t really have ‘homes’, as it were--”   
  
“Ty.” The Guardian placed a hand on the little light. “How long has it been since you’ve been to this Tower?”   
  
Ty shook his frame free. “Well, we tend to go off the reservation looking for potential Guardians to revive. And the Plaguelands have been quarantined for...a while.”   
  
“Wait. The  _ Plaguelands? _ You brought me through a place called the  _ Plaguelands?! _ ”   
  
“Would you have preferred to be out there forever? Bein’ killed by Fallen and who knows what else?”   
  
“I would’ve preferred to know when I’m breaking out of a  _ quarantine zo-- _ ” A  _ thud _ rocked the ship as it landed in the Tower Hangar.   
  
“I’ll do the talking,” the Guardian and his Ghost said in tandem, before exchanging a glare.   
  
Ty disappeared, and the Guardian opened the cockpit, jumping down onto the hangar floor. This hangar was  _ massive. _ The space here could easily hold another two dozen ships the size of his own, and labyrinths of scaffolding wound through the ceilings and walls, facilitating maintenance of any class of ship. In the distance, he could see a human woman working on a smaller craft. The moment he walked off the platform, he was met by a pair of frames.   
  
“WELCOME BACK, GUARDIAN,” one frame said, as they both approached the ship with a series of tools to inspect it with.   
  
“Maintenance frames?” the Guardian asked.   
  
“They mostly just assess damage,” Ty replied. “The Tower Shipwrights do the majority of the work themselves.” He looked around rather aimlessly. “I’d heard they’d done some remodeling after the Red War, but this looks like a total relocation.”   
  
“Red Wa--” The Guardian turned on one foot, facing down his Ghost. “You’re gonna have to be straight with me on this crap, cause this is getting outta hand real fast.”    
  
A voice mused monotone behind him. “You’re not Liam.”    
  
The Guardian turned around, and was met by a woman. An Exo, like him, standing only a few inches shorter than him. She was clad in similarly heavy armor to the man who lent them the ship in the first place, though significantly more form-fitting. Unlike the greens, browns and silvers of the Guardians of Vostok, her armor was a single tone of gunmetal black, with faint greys and purples forming the inner body armor and connecting ligaments. Her face stunned him; her features were markedly feminine, and the sight made him contemplate how his own face looked. It was a similarly gunmetal tone, with deep purple eyes that narrowed with each passing second he didn’t respond to her. 

The sentence was less a statement than an accusation.   
  
Ty immediately disappeared, speaking through his comms array. “You do the talking.”   
  
The Guardian sighed. “Nnnnno, I’m not. He gave this to me.”   
  
“‘Gave’ it,” she scoffed, walking towards him. “Liam Driver, Young Wolf, Sunbreaker, first half of the Driver brothers,  _ gave you _ his ship.” She had a very similar swagger to Shiro as she walked towards him, one that caused him in reflex to backstep until his back was to one of the ship’s landing gear.    
  
She continued to inch towards him regardless of his response. “Full disclosure, ma’am, I have no idea what anything you just said means.”

Her head tilted and eye twitched at the honorific, and she continued her approach until they were a foot apart. Her eyes felt like a bottomless void threatening to swallow him up. He dared not blink.   
  
After a long fermata, she straightened herself out. “In that case, welcome to the Last City, Guardian.” She took two steps back, allowing the Guardian some space once again, before outstretching her right hand for a handshake.    
  
He smirked, regaining his balance, reaching out to take it. “Thank you very much, ma’a--”   
  
_ Crunch. _ Before his body’s pain receptors could register the impact, he could feel the twisting of metal and banding beyond limits.  _ Crack _ . By the time his eyes had focused on his thoroughly rotated wrist, he felt a palm against the outside of his elbow, and before he could reach out his remaining functional hand in protest, he found a hand in front of his mouth.   
  
Another  _ crunch  _ of twisting metal. A fleeting look at the sky behind him.   
  
Black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flavor: The Sniper Rifle and Ship in this chapter are Weyloran's March and Hebridean Thoughtcrime, respectively.


	4. Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Guardian wakes from another sudden death, this time at the hands of another Guardian. Talk about a warm welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing on a regular schedule has been nice. I'm not as far ahead as I expected to be starting out, but I have a good sort of storyboard planned out. 
> 
> As always, feedback is appreciated!

A flash of light returned the Guardian to corporeal form with a gasp.  
  
“What the--?!” He turned frantically. He was no longer in the Tower Hangar; the room in which he found himself was familiar to the last room he revived in, in ways that exasperated him. At this point, he was starting to question whether Ty had actually brought him back to life, and if he was in fact in hell. Was hell an interrogation room? A box for him to keep escaping from, only to end up dying graphically? The thought drew a chuckle from him.   
  
“Okay, who’s the lucky guy that gets to have their gut kicked in this time?” He turned around to examine his surroundings, to find the room rather simple, just as his last; a table, two chairs, a holo-display platform, and a leisurely Exo waiting to question him. She was back. His hand cannon and Liam’s sniper rifle lay across the table.  
  
“Don’t know about a guy, Goldilocks,” she mused. Her eyes mulled over a file folder, flipping through statistics and studies that were no doubt done on him during whichever of his recent killings and subsequent analyses.   
  
The Guardian sighed, taking a seat across from her. “Y’know, I told Ty I’d shoot him if he called me that again.”   
  
“Don’t bother trying now, that window’s reinforced glass.” She nodded to her left, his right, at the mirrored-glass window of yet another interrogation chamber, before lightly tossing the file on the table, using his hand cannon as a paperweight. “That right there is from Felwinter Peak.”  
  
Behind the window, Ty floated anxiously in observation. Next to him, a towering man in white and silver armor listened intently.  
  
“Am I supposed to know what a Felwinter Peak is?” the Guardian asked.  
  
“It’s the facility you broke out of yesterday,” she scoffed, a look of almost incredulity. “The place is a fortress, guarded by some of the most badass Guardians alive today. Including Liam.”  
  
The Guardian paused; if she had a report from Vostok, it likely contains Liam’s account of events. “Not so badass, apparently,” he bluffed, his hand flicking lightly at the muzzle of Liam’s sniper rifle.  
  
“Shut up.” Her eyes finally met his, and they looked just as exasperated as he was. She got out of her chair, pushing it in behind her, before leaning on its back with both hands. “You and I both know that you didn’t beat Liam in a fight.”  
  
His face wavered. “I think the spoils of war tell a different story, don’tcha think?” He pointed back with his thumb to his new cloak, then forward to his index at his new kit.  
  
“Do you know the hellhole you just walked out of, kid?” She asked. She was rapidly tiring of the Guardian’s pompousness.  
  
“Some rat’s nest called the Plaguelands, right? Ty only _just_ happened to gimme that little tidbit as we were pulling in here.”  
  
“‘Rat’s nest.’” The Guardian could hear a faint creaking of metal between the woman’s fingers, and a more urgent shift in her tone. “Do you know what it takes for an army of nigh-immortals to designate someplace a quarantine zone?”   
  
“Obviously not, I’ve been alive for two days and have received exactly jack shit with regards to actual, tangible information.” He dropped the pretense. “Bad shit, I presume.”  
  
“Yeah, bad shit, you’re damn lucky a Guardian squadron was inbound to seal it before anything got out.”  
  
“So we’re safe, then?”  
  
She looked at him with a pained expression. “Yeah, jackass, we’re safe, no thanks to you.”  
  
The Guardian sighed. “Fine.” He got up, assuming the same expression. “Ty woke me up. Got chased by some Fallen, he opened the seal for me to get out, another Fallen got the drop on me. Woke up in Vostok, Shiro interrogated me, my hack test came out clean--” He pointed at the folder on the table. “--but Shiro had a bug up his ass and didn’t want me leaving, so I stole his knife and I escaped. Liam intercep--”  
  
“Hold on.” The female Exo raised her hand. “You _stole_ a knife from Shiro-4?”  
  
He untucked and unfurled his shirt, and lo and behold, there it was; she must not have taken it from his body prior to Ty reviving him. “Looks handmade,” he replied, brandishing it for a brief moment before relocating it behind his back. She scoffed, cocking a proverbial eyebrow. “As I was saying, Liam intercepted, and--” He sighed again. “--and I _killed_ him.”   
  
The Guardian and his interrogator exchanged looks.   
  
A light nudge of the head towards the file. _It’s his story._  
  
A running of fingers across the brow. _How he chooses his friends, I’m never gonna know._  
  
A dart of the eyes to the wall, and back to her. _You really wanna out us both to your boss back there?_  
  
An exasperated sigh.   
  
“Well, I assume the file contains the analysis of my bodily integrity, right?” the Guardian asked, breaking the silence. “Meaning that both you and whoever’s back there--” He pointed nonchalantly at the window. “--know that I’m clean. And from what you told me, you guys managed to seal the way I came in nice and tight again, so can we call this ‘no harm, no foul’?  
  
The female Exo looked down at the folder, nudging it open with the Guardian’s hand cannon and skimming over his analysis report. She gave a stern look to the Guardian. _You’re gonna owe me for this._   
  
Her hand touched her right temple. “Commander, Violet-5. New Guardian is clear of malfunction. New Guardian has provided a personal account of events that depict inadvertence in his role in the breach of quarantine. Permission to conclude interrogation?”  
  
The man behind the window let out a slight grunt before engaging the room’s comlink. His voice boomed low and dulcet through the room. “Granted, Violet-5. New Guardian, welcome to the Tower.” The window rose as he left the viewing room, and Ty rushed to meet his companion.  
  
The Guardian let out a low chuckle. “Is it me, or did he sound disappointed to have to say that?”  
  
“Well, you did nearly expose Humanity to a machine plague.” Violet replied. “And escape an Iron Banner facility. And nearly expose Humanity _to a machine plague_.” She took his file under her arm, glaring at him. “And steal another active Guardian’s kit. _And nearly expose Humanity to a machine plague._ ”

“You know, I don’t think you really hammered home the whole machine plague thing.” The Guardian picked up his weapons, pulling his cloak’s hood back up over his head. “What’s that about, anyway?”   
  
“You wanna know? Ask the guy you ‘killed’.”   
  
As the two of them headed towards the doorway, Violet reached for the handle as the Guardian held it shut. “Do you have some kind of beef with me, ‘Violet’?”   
  
“I’ve got beef with thieves,” she sighed, “and liars even worse.” She reached her left hand out, and the force of her shove nearly knocked the Guardian on his rear. “Don’t worry, though. Liam’s gonna get it worse. For enabling you.”

“‘Encouraging’ would be the better word.” He walked through the door and outward into a long series of stairwells. They wound through tunnel after tunnel, and the tedium of it launched the Guardian into a sprint.   
  


Violet sighed, taking off after him. “And where the hell do you think you’re going, Goldilocks?”  
  
“Maybe,” he grunted, his eye on a door at the top of the stairwell. “Spending who knows how long dead and three days being either killed or interrogated has left me a bit stir-crazy.” He finally reached the top with Violet a few steps behind him, swinging open the door and letting the sun hit his face. His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the lighting change yet, but the familiar warmth as it hit him lit up his brain. What did Ty say, like a Dawning tree? _Like a Dawning tree._   
  
“You know, I didn’t think I could feel nostalgia for something I only first experienced three days ago--”  
  
His foot left the floor. Caught nothing. He shouldn’t have gone right.  
  
A scream left his mouth, and in an instant he felt himself being yanked back by his cloak, falling backwards to the floor. His eyes finally finished adjusting; he just very nearly walked off the side of the building.  
  
“Why the hell is there just a hole in the Tower?!”  
  
“Emergency transmat platform. For quick landings and takeoffs, or lazy Guardians who don’t want the walk back upstairs.”  
  
“ _Just in the side of the building?!_ ”  
  
“Where else is it gonna be?” She scoffed, helping him up.

He panted, more out of fear than exhaustion, and turned to Ty. "I hate you."

Ty scoffed as well. "Uh-huh."

The two proceeded up a series of further stairs until they reached a massive gathering area. It looked like a sprawling promenade; restaurants served varieties of different foods, to both plainclothes citizens and Guardians alike; techs and messengers in all colors of garb raced about the place, hurriedly making towards their jobs; ships flew about in all directions, making their way to either the main hangar, presumably on the other side of the Tower, or to the one he nearly just fell off of, or outward, who-knows-where; but before any of that, the Guardian was utterly taken by the view beyond.    
  
“That...that’s it, isn’t it,” he whispered to himself.   
  
Ty materialized above his left shoulder. “Yup.”   
  
“The Traveler?”   
  
“Yup.”   
  
The sight enraptured the young Guardian. It had done so similarly from Shiro’s holo-display, but here it was, in front of him, mere miles away yet still looming massive over the sprawling metropolis for which the Tower stood as a barrier.

  
Violet put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him from his stupor. “You okay?”   
  
He stammered. “Uh, y-yeah, just...I didn’t think we’d be this close. Or that it’d be this big. Or that I’d feel this...energy from it.” He tried his best to properly compose himself. “I-I don’t know what I thought.”   
  
For the first time since they met, Violet cracked a small smile. Something about the childlike awe of a young Guardian. “That energy? It’s not from the Traveler.” She reaches out her hand, and her palm begins to glow with a low, purple light. “It’s from you. It’s the Traveler’s Light, resonating within your own body.”   
  
“Y-yours is purple,” he remarked, remembering Shiro.   
  
“Purple,” she repeated with a chuckle. “Void Light. My specialty, and arguably the most difficult form of Light to master.”    
  
He got out in front of her, interrupting their walk in front of what resembled an outdoor observatory. “What other kinds of Light are there?” He reached out to put his hands on her shoulders, but she took a single backstep with a look that reminded him of the hangar--right before she broke every joint in his arm and turned his head a hundred-and-eighty degrees. “How can I master them? Are they the same for everyone? Where do I go to learn all this stu--”   
  
Violet covered his mouth, and placed her own hands on his shoulders once he was silent. “Ask her.”    
  
Violet turned him around, and standing over a long, wooden semicircular desk was another woman. Human, by the looks of it, in a long, flowing royal purple robe. That same energy Violet drew from her hand he could feel on every inch of this woman; a living, breathing Void, both intimidating yet somehow calming. She pored over one of a multitude of books that lined her desk, some open, some closed, dozens stacked, before turning to face the two Guardians.    
  
“Violet, this is him?”   
  
“Yes, ma’am,” she replied, hands still on his shoulders.   
  
“Zavala says he disarmed two Iron Wolves.”   
  
“One literally, the other figuratively.” She rolled her eyes, her thoughts returning to the beating she was going to give Liam when next they met.   
  
“Well met, then.” The woman stepped forward, Violet retreating slowly at her approach, and placed a hand on the Guardian’s shoulder. “Guardian, my name is Ikora Rey,” she said. Her voice was smooth, dulcet, not unlike the supposed Commander from the interrogation room, though lacking the sternness and rigidity such a role undoubtedly stirs in one’s being. “I’m the Vanguard Mentor for the Warlocks of the Last City, as well as acting second-in-command.”   
  
“N-nice to meet you, ma’am,” the Guardian declared, reaching out a hand for a handshake. She smiled, and returned the gesture; she had a firmer grip than he expected.   
  
“Normally you’d be meeting the Hunter Vanguard, but unfortunately the role...is unfilled, as of now. So you’ll be dealing with me.” She moved to the side slightly, outstretching her arm as though to invite the Guardian to stand at her desk, to get a better look at the looming, unknowable thing behind her. “Come on.”   
  
Violet shook his eyes from the orb again. “Sorry, what?”   
  


“Come here. Get a good look,” she said. “Get all that staring out of your system.”   
  
He stepped forward, placing his palms on her desk, and pointed his gaze outward.   
  
“Welcome to the Last City, Guardian.”


	5. Mentor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Guardian is introduced to his mentor, who will teach him the ways of the Hunter. But first, a few introductory lessons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been trying to keep these chapters at a digestible 2000-2500 words, but as the central cast of characters get their formal introductions and the story begins to shift into the real meat-and-potatoes, I don't see that being super viable. (Hence this chapter being nearly twice my usual length.) Expect chapters to get longer from here on out, especially the next two-to-three chapters coming up.
> 
> As always, feedback is appreciated! Thanks for reading!

"Well," Violet mused, tapping the Guardian's shoulders with both hands, "he's all yours. I got assignments to do. Have fun, don't die."

The Guardian's eyes narrowed. "Wait, whaddaya mean, I'm all--" By the time he'd turned around, Violet had already transmatted out, faint wisps of energy fading into the distance the only remnant to indicate she'd ever been there at all. "Where the hell?!"

  
“Violet’s got other obligations to attend to, Guardian,” Ikora said, a hand on his shoulder.   
  
“Uh-huh.” The Guardian looked around aimlessly.   
  
“You’re dissatisfied with your company?” Ikora cocked an eyebrow.   
  
“No, no, ma’am,” he replied. She chuckled. “Is ma’am the thing? Do you have a title I should be referring to you as?”   
  
The chuckle broke into a brief laugh. “Please, Guardian. Ikora is fine.”   
  
“Okay.” He sighed slightly, regaining his composure. “Well, Ikora, with all due respect, I don’t know how comfortable I am having a...Warlock, was it? Teaching me how to be a Hunter.”   
  
She gave him a slightly more flat look. “Obviously. This isn’t my first rodeo.” She turned to look at a small turning device on the end of the desk before returning her attention to the Guardian. “Well, it seems I’ve some time on my hands, so I can give you a brief tour.”   
  
“A ‘tour’?” The Guardian was a bit surprised by the nonchalance portrayed by his superior. “I’m sightseeing now?”   
  
“Well, the Tower’s our base of operations, Guardian. Where Guardians coordinate with the Vanguard to take the fight to the Darkness, wherever it leads.”   
  
“Sounds like a sales pitch.”   
  
“It is what it is. Especially now, enemies new and old are everywhere. The Traveler made us for a reason, and I believe that reason is to fight the Darkness.”   
  
“You’re not used to this whole speaking thing, are you, Ikora?”   
  
She glanced back at him, surprised though not put off by his bluntness. “We had someone. Someone who used to speak for the Traveler. He passed some time ago. A casualty of war.” Her eyes glazed for a moment of dreadful reminiscence, before her gaze hardened. “Zavala and I intend to make sure that doesn’t happen again."    
  
The Guardian smiled. “Now that’s encouraging.”   
  
She returned the smile. “Now, this is the Bazaar. It's mostly a civilian common area, though myself and some other Vanguard representatives and collaborators use this area as a workspace.” She pointed to the stairwell he and Violet came up from. “Where you came from is the Annex. The Vanguard Commanders have private quarters there, as well as sequestered areas for the Tower’s more...eccentric occupants.”   
  
“We’re a bunch of immortal magic super-soldiers fighting robots, aliens and robot-aliens. How eccentric could they be?”   
  
“You’d be surprised,” she mused, making her way up another stairwell. The Guardian hurried to follow her, another three flights of stairs leading them through cargo bays, lounge areas, and what looked like an abandoned study, until they reached a bridge into another plaza. This one was significantly more open; flags waved throughout, in different colors and with a slew of different symbols; the restaurants and shops of the Bazaar were replaced with weapons outfitters, postmasters, and cryptologists; but most striking of all, nearly everyone in this area was a Guardian. End to end, the area was staffed with them, and they became more easily recognizable by their armor; Hunters, like himself, with lighter armor and cloaks for mobility and stealth; Warlocks, donning long robes inlaid with runes and Light; Titans, armored and armed like living, breathing tanks.   
  
Ikora stopped at the first station. There, an Exo stood at a long work table, thoroughly examining what looked like a stripped-down assault rifle. He wore what looked like a magnifying attachment over one of his eyes; given how good Exo eyesight was, the Guardian pondered what he needed to look at that could be so miniscule. On the walls around him were mounted weapons of all types, along with a litany of tools large and small with which to assemble and disassemble them.

The Exo looked up from his firearm, removing his eyepiece and returning to the counter. "Ma'am," he said with a nod. 

"Banshee, this is one of our newest Guardians." Ikora motioned for the Guardian to approach, and as he did the man called Banshee extended his hand for a handshake.

"Good to meet'cha, kid," Banshee said, as the Guardian returned the gesture.

"Likewise, Banshee, I'm…" The Guardian looked inward for a moment, but nothing came to him.

Banshee's eyes refocused for a moment, before he nudged the Guardian's shoulder gently with the butt of a rifle. "Don't worry about it, kid. I might not remember it anyways." The Guardian nodded, still a bit pensive. "You got places to be. Come over if ya need a weapon."

As they walked away, Ty emerged. "Forty-four."

"Hm?"

"His name is Banshee-44."

He turned back to the station, then to Ikora. "Forty-four--! Is-is he okay?"

She chuckled. "His memory leaves a bit to be desired, but he's been an expert tinkerer for about as long as we've had a Tower." She led him across the plaza, and as they went the Guardian looked out at the other stations. The area opposite Banshee had two other stations, only one of which was currently manned, by a frame handing out packages to Guardians who greeted them. Out on the edge of the Tower, he could make out a man in white and silver armor, looking out at the Traveler not unlike he was earlier.   
  
Ikora continued to lead him across a second bridge, and down another set of stairs, into a hallway lined with what resembled small parking bays. Each held a smaller vehicle, suspended by elevation rigs and in various states of disassembly. Mazes of ventilation webbed through the ceilings, ports leading to each bay, likely to expel fumes generated by the body work involved with repairing such vehicles. A final stretch of stairs led into a massive hangar; he likened it to if the hallway they just passed suddenly grew tenfold in size, the vehicles from before replaced with ships of myriad shapes and sizes. The hangar was somehow more crowded than any of the other areas he had seen thus far, with large crowds of frames and techs surrounding different ships undergoing maintenance. Several brandished tablets with ship and speeder schematics, and Ikora walked the Guardian to a frame standing between the platform and the bay itself.   
  
The frame stood at attention immediately, tablet in hand. [GOOD TO SEE YOU TODAY, MA’AM.]   
  
“Always,” Ikora replied with a nod. “Do you have the current docked ship manifest?”   
  
The frame immediately handed Ikora the tablet. [SEVENTY-FOUR NON-PERSONNEL GUARDIANS CURRENTLY DOCKED.]   
  
She parsed over page upon page of docked ships, until finally reaching a ship that looked...not like a ship. It looked like a set of long, jagged claws, like splintered bones and broken teeth. It evoked the image of a sword in his mind, made to cut through the air and everything else. And as his gaze rose from the tablet, he could see the ship on the far side of the hangar. Bay nine, according to the manifest, and looking like it was readying for takeoff.   
  
“Oh! Perfect, there she is. Follow me, Guardian.”   
  
She handed the tablet to the frame once again, and reached her hand out towards the ship, before suddenly disappearing in a wisp of Void. The Guardian looked around frantically for a moment, before seeing a similar wisp on the other end of the bay.   
  
“How in the hell.” He looked at Ty with incredulity. “How in the hell? How.”   
  
“Space magic,” Ty replied, flying down the hangar bay after her, and the Guardian followed.   
  
As he sprinted his way down, the ship came more clearly into view. It was almost all sharp edges, and he could just barely make out the points where one would access the cockpit and propulsion systems would reasonably attach to the thing. It looked less like a craft than a mass of sinew and bone. There, Ikora spoke to what seemed to be another Hunter. Or rather, Huntress. She stood a few inches shorter than Ikora, and was sporting a set of sleekly-made armor. Clearly built for a fight, the armor was light and heavy in all the right places so as not to sacrifice an inch of mobility nor a modicum of protective capability.   
  
“...Yeah, well, I made a deal with Jarvan,” the Guardian heard her say as he finally reached the ship. She was already in her helmet; the Guardian found himself a bit apprehensive, as it seemed Ikora might be holding this woman up from taking off somewhere.   
  
“I’m sure you’re gonna have fun,” Ikora replied. “And speaking of a deal…” She took a small sidestep, revealing the Guardian to her. They exchanged a look; his of awkwardness at not being properly introduced to this woman, hers of bewilderment, as though she didn’t quite know what she was looking at.    
  
“Um…” The Guardian looked to Ikora, who simply nudged her head toward the Huntress. “...hi?”   
  
Her eyes widened slightly, as though suddenly reminded of something urgent, before turning back to Ikora. “No.” Ikora nodded. “Now?” Again. “After I  _ just _ told you I’ve got a match to head to?”   
  
“You’re allowed a plus one. Plus, it’ll be a good teaching opportunity.”   
  
The Guardian chimed in. “Sorry, ‘teaching’?”   
  
“This is how I’ve been handling new Hunters, Guardian. I’ve enlisted a number of noteworthy and seasoned Hunters to act as mentors to newer ones, until such time as we can pick a new Hunter Vanguard.”   
  
“So, this is my tutor?”   
  
“Indeed.” She took a quick step behind the Huntress, placing a hand on her shoulder. “How about you introduce yourself?”   
  
The Huntress sighed, shrugging Ikora’s hand from her frame. “You know I don’t like to be touched.”    
  
She then clicked a mechanism on one side of her helmet, causing it to hiss slightly and unhinge with a light spooling noise. Taking it off revealed a face that utterly stupefied the Guardian; her skin was an almost-translucent bluish purple, and looking more closely he could literally see the Light radiating through her at times; her hair was shoulder-length, and a deeper, more solid purple, parted to the left and out of her eyes. Her  _ eyes _ . They glowed a yellow that scared the Guardian at first.   
  
She reached out a fist. “Amelie,” she said, a tinge of frustration in her voice.   
  
“You’re...blue,” he replied, still a tad stunned.   
  
She looked back to Ikora. “How new is this guy?”   
  
Ikora allowed herself a brief chuckle. “According to Zavala, three days.”   
  
“And he doesn’t know about the Awoken? No Light training, no combat, nothing?”   
  
“Save for a brief fight with Shiro and Liam Driver, no.”   
  
“Liam Dri--” Amelie turned to the Guardian, a look of sarcastic disbelief on her face. “You fought Liam Driver to get here.”   
  
Ty and the Guardian looked at one another.   
  
A slight tilt in her direction.  _ Should we keep this thing going? _   
  
Ty tilted slightly in Ikora’s direction.  _ Maybe just until she’s gone. _   
  
A smirk.  _ You’re gonna get me in trouble. _   
  
They turned back.   
  
“Sure did. Took a souvenir too.” The Guardian reached for his back, brandishing Liam’s sniper rifle.   
  
She looked in Ikora’s direction, only to find that she was already gone in another flash of Void Light.   
  
She sighed once more, turning to face the Guardian. “You got a ship?”

\------------------------------------------------

~Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean~   
  
“So lemme get this straight. You just... _ casually befriended _ an Iron Wolf. On your second day.”   
  
“Yup.”

Amelie’s ship’s aerodynamic frame sent it soaring through the skies over the Atlantic at incredible speeds, as though its pointed edges and finely sharpened curves were made to sever the very space from where she was to where she deigned to go. The Guardian’s, despite expert craftsmanship, relied on enhanced thrusters to force its way along her flightpath, just barely trailing her as they left the European border and began their trip across the sea. These ships were incredibly fast.   
  
“Is Liam really that gullible when he’s not knocking heads?” Amelie asked with a laugh.   
  
“Guess so,” he replied. “Though, credit where it’s due, he did shoot off my arm.”   
  
“Jarvan might actually have a chance then.”   
  
They shared another laugh, and after a few minutes of silence, he piped up again. “So where’re we headed exactly?”    
  
“Eastern Flood Zone. Area called the Rusted Lands. Shaxx’ turned it into a Crucible zone.”   
  
“Crucible?” he asked.   
  
Ty chimed in. “He’s still running that craziness?”   
  
“Oh, yeah. Ever since the Red War, it’s been more popular than ever. Retaking our lost lands and all that.”   
  
“How about an elaboration as to what the Crucible  _ is _ , either of you,” the Guardian said with a slight scowl.   
  
“Long story short, live-fire Guardian-versus-Guardian combat.”   
  
“Doesn’t that seem a bit danger--” The Guardian then looked down at his own chest for a moment, as though taking into account the fact that he’s so far been killed twice in as many days. “--oh. Yeah.”   
  
“Short story long,” Amelie continued, “Trigger happy guy called Shaxx decided one day that the best way for Guardians to learn to fight was by fighting each other, being basically immortal and all that. Eventually the concept got popular, next thing you know he’s got a movement together. Citizens start watching. Nowadays it’s equal parts in-depth combat training and entertaining bloodsport.”   
  
“Sounds morbid.”   
“Sounds awesome,” Ty and his Guardian said in tandem. They exchanged another look.   
  
“Don’t worry, guys. It’s both.” Amelie began making some tuning adjustments, then abruptly began a straight shot into the sky.   
  
“Wha-- Ty, where the hell is she going?”   
  
“Cutting down the trip,” Ty replied. “Turning four hours at subsonic into two minutes. Hang on.” Ty began interfacing with the ship, making a similar set of tuning adjustments as the Guardian began to follow her.   
  
“How advanced are these ships again?”   
  
“They’re interstellar craft. Designed to travel between planets with ease. How do you think Humanity managed to colonize the rest of the system?”   
  
The ship began to shudder slightly as it began to leave the stratosphere, the pressure forcing the Guardian’s back into his seat, until suddenly the shaking turned to a calm hum. The Guardian felt himself leaving his seat, realizing he’d neglected to strap himself in.   
  
The ship’s comms array blinked back on. “You still with me, Guardian?” Amelie asked. In the distance, he could make out her ship heading further eastward, and coordinated with Ty to adjust his trajectory to meet her.   
  
“Yeah, I’m here. Thanks for the warning, by the way,” the Guardian said with a hint of sarcasm.    
  
“Yeah, our conversation left us a bit strapped for time,” she said. “How’s it look?”   
  
“Hm?”   
  
“Space. You haven’t been yet, right? How is it?”   
  
“It’s...strangely serene,” he replied. “It’s quiet. Too quiet. But for some reason it feels more calming than unnerving.”   
  
“Yeah, it beats standard air travel.” He could hear her adjusting some settings again. “Now, you’re gonna set your NLS drive to 50% and engage for...two seconds.”   
  
“NLS?”    
  
Ty interjected. “NLS drives aren’t designed for short-burst space travel!”   
  
A fourth voice entered, digitized in a similar way to Ty. “Ship tech’s make strides since the last time you were in the City, Ty.”   
  
Ty sighed, and pointed out the controls for shifting fuel partitions between the pulse engine and NLS drive. “Just don’t blame me if your ship turns to shreds hitting the atmosphere at lightspeed.”   
  
“Great, a recluse  _ and _ a worrywart,” the digitized voice continued. The Guardian’s analysis pinned down the accent for him.  _ Old Earth. French. _   
  
“Don’t antagonize them, Coeur,” Amelie muttered. “Get ready. Half a second off, you’re on the other side of the continent. Full second, you’re dead.”   
  
“Oh, yeah, great encouragement, wonderful first lesson,” The Guardian replied, anxiously poring over his ship’s tuning to ensure he was positioned correctly. Ty nodded, and he reached for the NLS throttle.   
  
“‘Every Hunter’s first and last lesson is where they’re going’,” she said. The Guardian looked up at his comms array; the phrase felt like a piece of uncharacteristically sage advice, and the tone in which she said it evoked some degree of reminiscence.   
  
“3, 2, 1...now.”   
  
Both Guardians engaged their NLS drives.   
  


Space stretched. The stars that enraptured the Guardian a moment ago seemed to stretch slightly into gentle beams of light all around him, until everything began to wildly tear and fade into a burst of rainbow light.   
  
“One…” The Guardian’s internal clock counted the microseconds, and the count of two was met with him immediately pulling back on the throttle, the universe surging back into view.    
  
“...two! Holy shit!”    
  
The Guardian began a descent back to Earth as Amelie reemerged on his comms array. “Not bad. Make your way down here, the show’s about to start.”    
  
The two Guardians continued their descent upon another continent, and the scars of battle ran deep across it. His Exo mind began interfacing with the ship’s onboard mapping, showing landmarks on his HUD. The Rusted Lands came into sight almost immediately, but his focus was on a massive hole in the ground a few hundred miles north.   
  
“What’s with the giant nothing up north?” he asked Amelie.   
  
“That’s the Manhattan Crater. Nuclear wasteland. You don’t wanna go.”   
  
The Guardian shuddered at what kind of things could possibly have lived there, or what could’ve driven Humanity to such a point as to drop a bomb so deadly on such a massive area. As they descended on the Rusted Lands, he could clearly see lines of red cordoning off a large area that seemed to be staffed with warehouses, not unlike those of the Cosmodrome. Frames clad in red armor and carrying guns staffed the cordoned area, and about a half mile west he could make out the Near the west end of the cordon, he could make out what looked like a massive crashed ship.    
  
He landed beside Amelie’s ship, and made his way toward the cordon. There, Amelie was making small talk with what looked like another Guardian. He was ‘Awoken’ as well, though paler than Amelie was, with bluish-silver hair slicked back to keep out of his green eyes. The man was clearly another Titan, exemplified by his larger frame and lustrous, silver heavy armor. Upon closer inspection, the weaves holding the armor in place were quite well-made as well; much like the Huntress’, this armor seems to have been made to provide an optimal balance of mobility and defense.   
  
“Made it!,” the Guardian yelled across the way, catching the attention of the two Awoken.    
  
Amelie walked briskly to meet him, the Titan following. “Good stuff. Not gonna lie, didn’t expect you to get it down on your first try.”   
  
“You mean you expected me to die?” he exclaimed.   
  
“Not  _ die, _ ” she replied, “you weren’t gonna  _ die _ if you were too late, just maybe end up a few million miles away from Earth and have to try again.”   
  
“You really shouldn’t be bullyin’ the kid on his first day,” the Titan said. Another interesting accent.  _ Old Earth, English, American South. _   
  
“Don’t tell me how to teach my student, I don’t tell you how to teach yours.” Her tone got stern at the end of the sentence, and his face turned grim at it.   
  
“So you’re a mentor as well?” the Guardian asked.   
  
“Not really. Well, sort of. When I’m not thrashin’ fools here in the Crucible, yeah. Name’s Jarvan.” He extended his hand for a fist bump, which the Guardian returned.   
  
“Good to meet’cha, Jarvan.” He made the connection. “Amelie says she made a deal with you?”   
  
“Yup, that me ‘n’ my lady friend couldn’t beat the snot outta a couple Iron Wolves.”   
  
“That reminds me,” Amelie chimed in, “this one’s one of Liam’s friends.”   
  
“Oh,” he said, taking a backstep, “so you brought a crowd to boo me! Gotcha.” He gave the Guardian a fist bump and Amelie a wink, before running off into the cordon.   
  
Once he was out of earshot, they began a slow walk to a warehouse building in the center of the cordon.   
  
Ty broke the silence. “I’m a bit confused. Are you two friends, or do you two have beef?”   
  
Amelie and her Ghost turned to Ty and his Guardian. “Yes,” they said at once.   
  
The second floor of the warehouse seemed to have been converted to a veritable command center. Cameras seemed to cover every corner of the cordon, from the ‘Alpha’ point--the bed of a lake leading up to a water tower--to the ‘Bravo’ point, a collapsed road leading to the first destroyed buildings. The warehouse was the only fully-intact structure on the map, acting twofold as the sole barrier creating diversity throughout the staging area and as a perfect vantage point for those observing. Frames observed and logged every byte of information for further analysis, and while the Guardian looked in awe at the meticulousness of the craft of this room, Amelie simply took a tablet from one of the desks, projecting information from it onto two unused screens.   
  
“In this corner…” Jarvan and another Exo’s faces appeared next to each other, along with a series of statistics and weapons information. “Jarvan and Gospel-9.”   
  
“Another Exo, huh. Thought they’d be rarer.”   
  
“Humans, Awoken and Exo used to be a lot more sparse, but it’s a pretty even spread these days.” Her eyes narrowed. “Smart. Bring a Solar Warlock in case you screw up.”   
  
“Solar?” His memory flashed back to his confrontation with Liam in Vostok. “Liam’s Solar as well.”   
  
“Oh yeah. He was one of the first of the new Sunbreak Order. Solar Titans are rare these days.” She expanded Gospel’s stats. “But this one’s a Warlock. Completely different skill-set...and no Doubles experience. She’s mostly a Clash and Control contender. That’s interesting.”   
  
“So there are different ways to run?”   
  
“Of course, different ways for different forms of combat training. Control is just as it sounds, team-based point capture. Clash, standard team deathmatch. Rumble’s a smaller exercise, but it’s a free-for all. A few more I don’t need to get into, cause this here is Doubles Elimination.”   
  
“So two-v-two,” he uttered, looking to the second screen.   
  
“Yup. Revivals locked to allies. Kill both opponents without them reviving each other to get a point. This match, first to three points wins.” She expanded the second screen’s stats, revealing one card for Liam and one for another man, quite similar to Liam in looks but significantly more grizzled. “Aaaaaaand in this corner...Liam and Paul, the Driver brothers.”   
  
“The Iron Wolves he was talkin’ about.”   
  
“And a right couple of badasses. Paul’s got a stick up his arse, and rarely leaves the Peak unless he’s on a mission or looking after Liam. But in here, he tends to cut loose, to some...entertaining results.”   
  
“Striker…” He noted a blue background over the word. “Arc Titan?”   
  
“You’re catching on.”   
  
“So, what did you two bet?”   
  
Before Amelie could answer, a booming, gritty voice echoed from the far end of the room. “Final checks! One minute to launch!” A small crowd of frames flocked to the man to confirm parameters prior to the match.   
  
“Let’s call this the real first lesson, Guardian,” Amelie said, returning the combatants’ information to the tablet and replacing it with a large top-down map.   
  
The Guardian stood behind her, watching four dots, Jarvan and Gospel in blue, Liam and Paul orange, emerge at their respective starting points of Alpha and Bravo. “And that would be?”   
  
Amelie cracked a small smirk, looking down at Jarvan’s stat-sheet on her tablet.   
  
“How Guardians fight. With Light.”   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flavor:  
> -Amelie is wearing the Woven Firesmith armor set.  
> -Amelie’s ship is the Agonarch Karve.  
> -Jarvan is wearing the Reverie Dawn armor set.  
> -Jarvan’s ship is unsecured/OUTCRY.
> 
> Amelie and Jarvan are OCs created by my good friend PinkRambo! She's an amazing writer, please check out her work if you find the time!


	6. Lightshow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doubles Elimination! First to three!
> 
> Alpha Team: Jarvan (Sentinel) and Gospel-9 (Dawnblade)!
> 
> Bravo Team: The Driver brothers, Liam (Sunbreaker) and Paul (Striker)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My plan was to consolidate the entire first four rounds into a single, long chapter, but due to family stuff and other outside concerns I didn't have as much time to write this week. Expect the next two rounds in the next chapter.
> 
> As always, your feedback is appreciated!

Jarvan checked his weapons a third and final time.    
  
Submachine gun, check. The diamond-shaped architecture soothed him as his fingers ran across it. He recalled the legion of Hive he and his fellow Guardians rallied to kill to uncover the weapon from zettabytes of encrypted Warmind data.   
  
Linear Fusion rifle, check. A Veist model, lighter and less destructive than his usual one, but that would serve its purpose nonetheless. Crucible rules dictated a limit on the usage of certain classes of weapons, and when it came to these particular opponents, he was going to need to be both fleet of foot and swift at hand.   
  
Shotgun, check. It was more compact than the one he was accustomed to carrying, but for the Crucible he would require its light weight and ease of use. He fondly remembered the smooth voice and soft smile of the Tower Shipwright as she awarded it to him, the designs of whom the gun was based upon and whose idea inspired the tournament that earned him both the weapon and his first sponsorship.   
  
Across from him, his ‘lady friend’ was doing the same, ensuring her gear was properly attuned and affixed. She sported a new robe; it was bathed in gold adornments, and boasted six large wing-like attachments emerging from the back.   
  
“Seems a bit gaudy to me,” Jarvan said coolly, stowing his weapons on his back save for the shotgun.   
  
“Oh, believe me,” Gospel uttered, fixing her straps, “I’m not the biggest fan of it either. But against two Iron Wolves, you’re gonna be glad I’m wearing it.”   
  
“Helps ya fly better?”   
  
“You could say that,” she replied. He watched as she stowed her own weapons, a long-barreled scout rifle, a fusion rifle, and a grenade launcher.

Shaxx' voice boomed onto their comms arrays; a one-way transmission. "Final checks! One minute to launch!"

"What's the strat, you think?" He said, reviewing a top-down map of the Rusted Lands.

"Well, Paul's a roamer," Gospel posited, "and Liam typically follows his lead long as he's not alone. As for you, from what VODs I've seen of your play, you tend to be the defensive type in finite-life combat sims."

"What can I say? Bein' shot sucks, bein' shot and not bein' able to come back on demand sucks more."

"My opinion? We hole up at the Seeder."

Jarvan zoomed in on it. "Not the worst idea. Good sightlines. Defensible points of entry. Two quick routes to overtime."

"Mm," Gospel nodded. It occurred to Jarvan that she wasn't even following along.

"You gettin' all this, hon?"

"First, don't call me 'hon'. Second, map's in my head. I got it."

"Just makin' sure, G. Doubles ain't never been your strong suit."

"Crucible in general 'ain't never been' my strong suit. Keeping crazy assholes alive so they don't get disintegrated by a Thundercrash  _ is _ ." Gospel finally turned around to face him, and took note of his mark. She sighed audibly as she regarded it, its gold trims, ornate designs and authentic leather make giving her cause to question Jarvan's accusations of gaudiness. 

"Thirty seconds!" Shaxx announced.

"You're wearing  _ that thing _ ?" She asked.

"It's a Crucible match. I gotta sponsor. I gotta rep."

"It's an  _ exhibition match _ . You don't have to rep anything."

"Gospel, I don't judge what you get up to, can you not judge my choice of look?"

She snickered. "You sound like Amelie."

He grimaced at the fact. "Don't remind me."

"TEN!"

"You still haven't told me what you two bet," Gospel said, heading for her transmat pad.

"Nope. Don't plan to, neither." Jarvan took his place on his own pad. "Sorry, G."

"FIVE! FOUR!"

"Next time you need me, I better know what it is I'm fighting for."

They exchanged a look, and Jarvan smiled, putting up a thumbs up.

"TWO! ONE!"

"Deal."

\----------------------------

"You brought your Iron Blade here? To the Crucible?"

Liam rolled his eyes behind his helmet. Paul was a brand of grumpy today that stood a cut above his usual irritability. Granted, he wasn't entirely wrong; the Wolfhowl was meant to be a sacred weapon, only sent to fight in true and righteous combat. But it was the only sword he had.

"If my hammer breaks on that shield of his, or that blade of hers, I'm gonna want somethin' to fall back on." He finally turned to face his brother, blade on his back and hammer at his hip.

"You really dont show any respect for the Iron Lords, you know," Paul continued. "Coming here like this, leaving our bastion as you please."

"Lord Saladin spends a week here every month, and you bark at me if I spend two days."

"Lord Saladin goes to the tower to rally. To recruit more Guardians to the cause." Liam watched as his brother equipped his own weapons, all Iron in make save for his own sword. "You come here for fun. To 'blow off steam'."

"Thirty seconds to launch!" Shaxx' voice boomed through their suits' comms.

"And you don't?" Liam asked.

Paul turned to face his brother.

"I've seen you in here. Seen you when you walk in and when you walk out. You have fun here."

"Every trainer enjoys taking their dogs for a walk." Liam scoffed, and Paul let out a low chuckle.

"Screw you, Paul," Liam said with a smile. "All I'm sayin's you can afford to cut loose."

Paul put on his helmet with a wry smile. Paul knew it; its sensory arrays were several cuts above his Iron Regalia, and designed to help him maintain more finite control of his Arc energy output. "You wanna see loose, little brother?"

"TEN!"

Liam looked genuinely surprised. "You're not suggesting we go balls-to-the-wall?"

Paul scoffed. "Not at all, nothing so barbaric."

"FIVE! FOUR!"

"Let's go with 'extreme prejudice.'"

"TWO! ONE!"

Liam's smile was ear to ear. “Extreme prejudice it is.”

\---------------------------------------

Jarvan and Gospel emerged from the waters of the Alpha Zone. The Exo immediately took to the sky, Light giving her the lift to ascend and scout the path across. The Alpha and Bravo Zones were a straight line to one another, with few obstructions; a perfect sightline for those who can get the right altitude. 

  
“What’re we lookin’ like, G?” Jarvan said, spinning his shotgun in his right and focusing Light in his left.   
  
Gospel’s lift slowly expired, leading a gradual descent. “Nothing. Might be going around to the--”   
  
Gospel could see the outline of a figure jumping onto the trailer of a rusted-out truck. A jumping stance.   
  
“Shit.”   
  
The moment Gospel’s feet hit the ground, a clap of thunder and a  _ crunch _ of rending metal rang through the Rusted Lands as Paul launched himself across the sky in a confined storm of Arc Light. “Thundercrash,” they whispered in tandem.   
  
“Fight or flight, G?” Jarvan asked.   
  
She held out her hand to the Titan. “Both. Throw me.”   
  
Jarvan stowed his shotgun, taking it, and began to spin with her in his grasp. She was an inconsequential weight for him, and around the fourth revolution he felt a burst of heat as Gospel ignited herself in Solar radiance.  _ Now. _ He finally released, sending her rocketing toward the living, breathing missile, and as he did he--and the audience--looked on as the fire bathing the Exo coalesced around the back of her gilded robe. One by one, the six winged adornments sparked alight with the Warlock’s energy, coalescing the flames into six wide Solar wings that propelled her towards the Striker. In her right hand, a seventh coalescence formed; a small flap of the wings propelled her with greater speed as a sword formed in her hand, a searing weapon to cut down the enemy that threatened her and her friend. She took the blade in both hands, kiting right as her sword cut across the Titan’s chest, eliciting a yell from him as he fell from the sky. A loud popping sound like an exploding transformer rang out as the Arc Light bounced from his lifeless body, coming to the ground with a  _ thud _ a few feet from Jarvan.   
  
Jarvan lowered his fusion rifle from his eye, a precaution in case the gambit failed. “Damn, woman.”   
  
Gospel came to a skidding landing between the two broken warehouses that framed Bravo Zone, when her eyes turned infrared for a fraction of a second.  _ Heat signature, three meters. _ She attempted to flap her wings hard enough to slow her momentum, but it was too late; she instinctively raised the Dawnblade to guard herself as a flaming hammer swung outward from behind the truck, meeting her blade head on.   
  
Liam stepped outward slowly, the hammer in his left hand pulsing pressure into Gospel’s blade so as to keep her guard up. “Nice work,” he remarked, nodding behind her, presumably at his brother’s corpse.   
  
“‘Nice’?” she asked. “He’s your brother.”   
  
Liam continued his forward advance, slowly forcing Gospel’s retreat. “He’s also a pompous arsehole, so I thought I’d fire him up and see what happens.” He cocked his head, a gesture Gospel was all too familiar with--from Jarvan, whenever he did something that made him feel uniquely proud of himself in his own cocky way. “And you. Thought you’d casually two-v-one some Iron Lords, huh?”   
  
As they began to pass a destroyed building, Gospel formed a smile behind her helmet. “Thought I’d buy some time.”   
  
“Buy some--”    
  
_ CRACK. _   
  
Liam’s head disappeared, his body falling to the floor. Gospel looked up to her right; Jarvan had taken the hint, using the distraction to get the high ground and taking Liam’s head off with his shotgun.   
  
“Round one goes to the Knights!” Shaxx’ voice echoed through speakers throughout the field now, as Jarvan and Gospel transmitted back to Alpha Zone.   
  
\------------------------------------------------   
  
A brief reprieve between rounds allowed the two a word. “The ‘Knights’?” Gospel asked.   
  
“Yeah,” Jarvan replied. “Y’know. Shield. Sword. Old-timey stuff. Can’t beat the classics.”   
  
Gospel shrugged. “Fair enough. Guess it works if we’re surrounded.”   
  
“You overthink things,” Jarvan laughed. “Sometimes somethin’ just sounds freakin’ cool.”   
  
\--------------------------------------------------   
  
Liam’s body reconstituted a short time after Paul’s did.   
  
“You did that on purpose,” Paul said. His usual scowl was back.   
  
Liam sighed, an uneasy chuckle coming out as he scratched his head. “Kinda wanted to see what you’d do, given some right and proper encouragement.”   
  
“Next time you’ve got a Crucible match, I’m keeping your arse on the mountain.” He cracked his neck. “My turn this time.”   
  
“Fair enough, brother.” Liam’s smile faded. He’d done it this time.

\-------------------------------------------------------

“Round 2!” Shaxx’ voice boomed. “Knights: one, Wolves: zero!”

The moment they emerged from the water, Jarvan made a beeline for the Hive Seeder. Gospel took a post behind a support pillar on the other side of the building, scoping out the initial sightline where the first round's action took place.

He slid through the back hallway into the building, shotgun at the ready. Still empty. Sidling towards the far wall, he stowed the shotgun in favor of his line rifle, peeking out to the building across the way. Two routes through were present, a tunnel underneath and a destroyed wall through which one could go around; both were empty.

"G, what's your sta--"

Scout rifle fire rang out across the building. _Gospel._   
  
Jarvan peeked out across with his line rifle; Gospel had taken initiative, forcing the Wolves behind cover. A smile crept across his face as he decided to take this opportunity to get the drop on them, taking off through the tunnel and into the building--  
  
_Whack._  
  
A large chunk of iron swooped out from the side of the tunnel’s exit, clotheslining the Sentinel and sending him tumbling into the opposite wall from the momentum. Liam laughed as Jarvan’s face hit the business end of his Hammer; Jarvan noticed as he rose from the ground that his helmet was off. His voice boomed over the exchange of scout and automatic rifle fire.  
  
“Liam,” he grunted, pulling his shotgun from his shoulder holster.  
  
“Jarvan,” he replied, lowering his left arm. He turned to face him, wielding the Wolfhowl in his right hand. “Nice helmet. Sturdy. I dig that.”  
  
Jarvan smirked behind it. “Sad you didn’t take my head off?”  
  
“You know, eye for an eye, head for a head.” A loud _clang_ of steel against steel drew both Titans’ eyes in the direction of Alpha Zone.  
  
Both Guardians turned back to one another, Light flickering on their fingertips; flames burned in Liam’s palm, anxious to set his hammer alight; entropy coalesced on the back of Jarvan’s left hand as he formed the image of the emblazoned shield in his mind.   
  
Liam’s eyes darted in the direction of the gunfire. _Wanna get a look at the action?_  
  
Jarvan smirked behind his helmet, and in lockstep, the two made a slow, dance-like walk through the destroyed complex to the edge of Bravo Zone. From there they flew upwards, taking up opposed vantage positions; Jarvan on a rooftop ledge, near where he blew Liam’s head off last round; Liam atop an archway through which they came from the complex. Both provided a decent view of the open field where Gospel and Paul clashed blades.  
  
Gospel flew circles around Paul, wings aflame and sword alight, making attacks at every point she saw an opening. Paul maintained a defensive stance, blocking with a precision that matched the meticulousness of her assaults. Despite her overwhelming speed advantage in swordplay-based combat, his two-handed stance benefitted him twofold; it made him both more suitable to tracking and blocking her movements, as well as making wide, powerful swings during his openings that made it more difficult for her to secure space.  
  
“Burning out, milady?” Paul asked.  
  
“Not even close,” Gospel replied, wings bursting forward as she continued her assault. In the distance, Jarvan’s shield hand pounded a wall behind him.   
  
“She’s burning out,” he sighed.  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Liam uttered, allowing his hammer to slack in his left hand as he finally channeled his Solar Light into it, setting it aflame. Jarvan immediately followed suit, manifesting his shield in his left hand and aiming his shotgun with his right.  
  
Gospel was panting. She _was_ burning out; the Wings of Sacred Dawn granted her a serious advantage in terms of speed, maneuverability and Solar energy output, but granted the potential for her to expend too much energy on movement and not enough on offense. To top it off, Paul’s use of a genuine sword and defensive stance ensured he wasn’t committing Light to his actions nearly as much as she was. Paul wasn’t blind, either. He could see her movements beginning to slow, even if they did still outpace him, and she knew it. They reduced to another stalemate, and Gospel looked down at the blade in her right hand. _A gambit_ , she thought, _a desperate gambit. But--_  
  
Shaxx’ voice echoed through the Guardians’ comms arrays. “Thirty seconds.”  
  
“Can’t fight forever, love,” Paul said with a chuckle. “Some point you’re gonna have to get past me.”  
  
Jarvan’s eyes widened behind his helmet as his position occurred to him, and cursed under his breath. Liam’s hand lowered to the woven strap of his flaming Hammer, beginning to spin it in anticipation for Jarvan’s next move.   
  
Jarvan’s head turned slowly to look upon Gospel, just enough to keep the Sunbreaker across from him within his periphery. She saw, and remarked upon his position, before making note of his body language.  
  
The slightest, softest nod of his head to his right, her left. _Overtime._  
  
“Fifteen seconds!” Shaxx’ voice boomed.  
  
She nodded. He returned it. She took the Dawnblade in her hands and raised it up--drawing defense from her opponent--before thrusting it into her own chest. It did not pierce as a sword would, but became absorbed into her, the pure Solar Light given form from the Warlock’s body returning to its origins, imbuing her with a burst of newfound vitality. Her sixfold wings burst forth, nearly doubled in length from before, and she took off--in the opposite direction, towards the tunnel.  
  
“Shit,” the Wolves said in tandem. Jarvan whirled, throwing his Sentinel shield at the Sunbreaker. Liam swung the whirling hammer, sending the shield flying into the air, and turned to his brother.  
  
“GO!” Paul yelled. Liam nodded, taking off into the complex as Jarvan reformed his shield.  
  
Jarvan leapt from the roof, propelling himself across the expanse, when he heard another thunderclap from across the way.   
  
“Shi--” The _boom_ of the impact rang in his ears and rattled his bones as Paul catapulted himself into the Sentinel, sending the both of them tumbling into a neighboring building. Jarvan barely managed to send his palm into Paul’s sternum before they hit the ground, separating them, the force of the impact causing audible _crack_ s from both Titans as they hit two opposing walls.   
  
“Five seconds!” Shaxx yelled through their comms, as Gospel reached the center of the destroyed complex. There, a small beacon began to levitate about ten feet above her, creating a ring of light around her.  
  
“Made it,” she panted, the wings fading from her back. She pulled out her grenade launcher, beginning to aim it in the direction of the _boom_ from earlier.  
  
_Shunk._  
  
A gasp. The grenade launcher fell to the floor. She looked down to get it when the burning sensation hit. The tip of the Wolfhowl emerged from her chest, its flames burning her robe and self-cauterizing the ‘wound’ it left. A second _shunk_ came as the sword left her, causing her to take a backstep. Liam took hold of her waist as her legs gave out from under her, laying her down gently on the ground--just outside of the overtime zone.  
  
“Sorry, love,” he said as he took a backstep into the zone, the ring turning from white to orange as her eyes slowly faded. “Eye for an eye.”  
  
Paul and Jarvan removed their helmets, both of which were severely cracked from the impact. The former peeked out from the wall, chuckling lightly at the blazing beacon. “Guess she burnt out after a- _argh_.” Paul attempted to force himself back up, a sharp pain seething out from his mid-back, when he realized he couldn’t feel his legs.  
  
“One-one,” Jarvan replied, panting. He wasn’t much better; he used his Shield to hoist himself up for a moment, before a similar pain forced him back down. He _could_ feel his legs, and one of them was shattered.  
  
\------------------------------------------------------  
  


Amelie’s thumb rested between her lips as she forced back a smile. She’d never seen Jarvan get blindsided like that, and she derived a morbid entertainment from it.    
  
The Guardian was awestruck. Three short minutes saw these Guardians erupting in storms of Light and gunfire, manifesting fearsome weapons from fire and lightning and nothingness. His friend, wielding two fearsome flaming weapons like a burning gladiator. A man wielding a storm in his fists. Another who drew a rampart from the Void.   
  
“This is insane,” He said to Amelie. She was silent, pensive. “Amelie?”   
  
She turned with a start. “Hm? Oh, sorry. Yeah, they’re all Crucible heads."   
  
“You okay?”   
  
“Yeah, fine.”   
  
The Guardian paused. She was clearly deep in thought. Only one question bubbled forth.    
  
“What did you wager with Jarvan to get you so rattled?"   
  
Silence.   
  
“Round two goes to the Wolves!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flavor:
> 
> -Liam's Sword is the Young Wolf's Howl.  
> -Gospel's robe is the Wings of Sacred Dawn.  
> -Paul's helmet is An Insurmountable Skullfort.  
> -Being able to write Guardians fighting outside of the in-game mechanics of Destiny is, in a word, dopeasfuck.


	7. The Wager

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A vision from beyond the grave. A revelation. A confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for the fun stuff. 
> 
> As always, your feedback is appreciated!

Gospel-9 rose from her stupor unto the breach.   
  
This was a tactic she didn’t relish in using in the Crucible, but that would prove useful. She waded out of the lake and towards the water tank. It was night; the first of many indicators, aside from the haze at the edges of her vision, that this was not in fact real. The central building’s hub loomed over the Rusted Lands, an imposing eye watching her. Quite literally, here, as her perceptions were reflected in the building’s windows. She could see two streaks of light, blue and orange, making their way over the arch at Bravo into the complex. But what caught her attention was a second set of footprints, larger than hers, making their way out of the lake and into the basement of the Seeder building.  
  
There, she saw Jarvan. He was wearing a different suit; the reminders of his heritage that wove themselves into his typical armor replaced with an older-style, relaxed set. He almost could’ve been mistaken for wearing a bomber jacket.   
  
“What?” Gospel’s visions were spotty, but they were generally associated with a couple of set factors, the key ones being the area in which she died. But this couldn’t be future events; as an active Crucible staging area, there would be no reason for Jarvan to be here without his armor. Meaning...  
  
Two shadows laid on the floor on either side of Jarvan, with the faintest wisps of Light hanging in the air above them. _Bodies,_ she thought. _Ghosts._ _They’re Guardians_. A fourth body sat hunched in the corner, next to the hallway leading to the Seeder. She began a slow walk to inspect the body, but her gaze turned for an instant behind her to her friend and she saw it. The Chaperone sat in his hands, smoke trailing lightly from its muzzle.  
  
“No way, Jarvan,” she whispered, “you didn’t kill these Guardians.” She regarded the Ghost-Light hanging over the bodies. “You didn’t kill them. A warning kill. But--” She whirled back around to the man in the corner. He was hunched over, clutching--no, covering his head. “Protecting your head.” In that moment, she could hear Jarvan approaching him, the stretch of leather as he took a knee beside him, stowing his weapon.   
  
“You were protecting him.” Gospel looked on anxiously. Her visions rarely encompassed past events, but those that did frustrated her greatly; unable to act on the course of time, she had no choice but to watch the events play out.  
  
She watched as Jarvan put a hand on the man’s shoulder, and two objects burst from the man--one Light, but one looking mechanical in nature. One of them was a Ghost.   
  
“Another Guardian?” She looked back to the two bodies; their Ghosts hadn’t revived them. “So Jarvan was protecting you...from two other Guardians.” Her head was spinning. Who was this guy? Why were these Guardians attacking him? Why was Jarvan there in the first place?  
  
The figure lifted his head to meet Jarvan’s gaze, and the scarlet hood over his head slowly fell, revealing his face.  
  
Gospel’s eyes widened. She took two steps back.   
  
“No. _No._ ” Her hand instinctively reached for her rifle. She found no purchase, of course; it was a dream, after all.   
  
His eyes burned yellow-orange behind jet-black hair into the Warlock’s mind. She opened her hand and called on her Light--but nothing came. No blade formed in her hand, no wings would sprout from her back. Fear paralyzed the warrior; she could only watch as Jarvan slung the man’s arm over his shoulder, slowly walking him from the basement and out towards the lake.  
  


“ _ No!! NO-- _ ”

\-------------------------------------------------

Gospel’s body reformed, rising from the water. It was early morning, as it had been. She immediately looked to her left, finding Jarvan in his fully armored regalia, wading out into the field alongside her.   
  
Jarvan pointed lightly in the direction of Bravo, at what they could make out as Liam headed in the direction of the complex. “Looks like they’re holin’ up to defend OT.” He began heading left toward the Seeder building, and Gospel followed a few steps behind, until they reached the hallway that headed upstairs. She immediately grabbed the Titan, pulling him backwards and forcing him against the wall right of the hall entrance.   
  
Jarvan forced her hand off of his shoulder. “Gospel, what the hell are you--” He was cut off by the  _ buzz _ of a cycling fusion battery; Gospel stuck the muzzle of her fusion rifle against his chest, priming the gun.   
  
“What the hell have you done, Jarvan?” she hissed.   
  
“What the hell are you  _ talkin’ about _ , G?” he asked in response, his hands raised.   
  
She let off a blast from her rifle into the ground at his feet. “Him.  _ Him _ , Jarvan?  _ Him _ ?!”   
  
Jarvan’s face soured. “Gospel, you gotta be more open with me he-URGH!”   
  
Gospel brought a knee into the Titan’s crotch. Every Guardian has different weaknesses, but every man shares one. He hit his knees before the Warlock, who immediately leveled the muzzle against the back of his neck. She opened her left hand, summoning her Ghost.

"Psalm, jam my comms patterns."

A gruff, accented voice replied, "Understood." A brief crackling noise sparked through the Crucible comms relay. She estimated with the amount of frame presence upstairs, it wouldn't take them over a minute to figure out it wasn't their equipment and track the source of the interference.

The name was on her tongue, but she dared not speak it, for fear the Wolves could hear her. She hesitated to even mouth the name, that was the extent to which it fostered disgust in her. Instead, she turned to face him, pulling a small tablet from her back pocket and laying it at the Titan's feet. At no point during this did the Warlock remove the gun from its position leveled to Jarvan's head.

" _ Him. _ " She whispered again.

Jarvan let out a long sigh. "How'd you find out?"

"You know how."

"You spyin' on me?"

"No, I just had the vis-"

"You one of those Praxic whackjobs?"

"No, Jarvan! I just saw it when--" She choked slightly, her gun-arm wavering until she finally let it fall from his head. "--when i died last round, okay?"   
  
Jarvan made sure his friend wasn’t going to point the gun at her again, and got up slowly. “You gonna report me?” he asked, a tinge of apprehension in his voice.    
  
“What, so you can get sanctioned for harboring--”   
  
“You should, G.”   
  
“What--” Gospel shook her head. “The hell do you mean, ‘I  _ should _ ?’”   
  
“It’d piss the hell out of Amelie.”   
  
Gospel cocked her head to the side for a moment of confusion, when her eyes widened. She understood.    
  
“The wager,” she sighed   
  
“More of a Dare,” he replied, dusting off his armor. “You know Hunters.”   
  
“So she’s a Revenger?”   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“And she found out.”   
  
“Six weeks ago.”   
  
“And how long ago was…” Gospel made a motion with her hand, circling the basement. “...this?”   
  
Jarvan sighed. “‘Bout a month before that.”   
  
“So for almost three months--” Gospel pushed him back against the wall. “-- _ three months _ , you were, what, what,  _ taking care _ of him? Of that--that psychopath? That  _ murderer?! _ ”   
  
“He’s not who you think he is, G.” Jarvan placed his hand at the forearm holding the fusion rifle. “Not who he was. He’s different. He’s scared.”   
  
“Jarvan, he  _ murdered-- _ ”   
  
“It wasn’t him, G.” Jarvan removed his helmet so she could see his face, look in his eyes. “Not really. You know that. As well as I do.”   
  
“...” Gospel choked up. She lacked tear ducts to accurately visibly portray the storm of emotions at play in her. Confusion. Anger. Fear. Betrayal. Jarvan attempted to put a hand on her shoulder, no doubt in an effort to console her, but she brushed him off.    
  
Words finally formed. “...So I know what she gets if you lose. What do you get if you win?”

Jarvan’s fist clenched at the thought. “That’s my problem, G.”   
  
“What? How bad could it be?”   
  
“That  _ is _ what happens if I win.”   
  
“...” Gospel realized the full scope of what happened--a no-win scenario. He’d been played. The words ‘And if you lose?’ danced on the end of Gospel’s tongue, but she realized she already knew the answer. She looked down, regarding the Titan’s mark--the ornate bull emblazoned in bone-white thread upon old leather, a symbol of his partnership with Tex Mechanica, the oldest still-running Foundry in the City’s history--and knowing that it didn’t matter what he bet if he lost, but what would happen if he lost anyway.   
  
“Why agree to the Dare in the first place, then, if you knew you were screwed either way?” she asked. “Why not just shoot her in the face like the other two and tell her to go to hell?”   
  
“Thought maybe her seein’ me fight…” Jarvan drew his shotgun. “...seein’ how far I was willin’ to go would change her mind.”   
  
“How are you even friends with somebody like that? Somebody so...cruel?”   
  
“She wasn’t always this cold, G.”   
  
“Really, now?” Gospel’s hands turned to her hips almost in a fit of sarcasm. “And what, pray tell, could possibly happen to turn someone’s heart to stone so completely?”

  
Jarvan knelt down, picking Gospel’s tablet up and handing it back to her, but not before adjusting its display to project an obituary. “Cayde happened, G.”   
  
“What do you--” Gospel looked at the tablet, and down at the spot where she held Jarvan--where Jarvan held  _ him _ . “...oh.”   
  
“He happened. Cayde happened. The Siege of the Reef happened. The Hunt for the Barons happened.” Jarvan’s grip on the gun tightened. “An’ she an’ I both knew that puttin’ a round in the Rifleman’s skull wouldn’t take the slug outta Cayde’s chest an’ put his Ghost back together, but...she did it anyway. An' I helped her." Jarvan was tearing up now as well, knuckles white-hot on the grip of his gun.

"Jarvan!" Shaxx' voice came into his comms array, shocking him from his stupor.

"Y-yessir!" He responded, putting his helmet back on.

"What the hell are you two doing?! Thirty seconds! Get Gospel to fix her damn comms array and MOVE!"   
  
“Jig’s up, G.” Jarvan put his helmet back on. “We gotta haul ass.”   
  
“Yeah,” she replied. “Kill it, Psalm.” Her Ghost returned to her, and the pair began rushing through the hallway into the Seeder building.   
  
“Fifteen seconds!” Shaxx’ voice echoed.   
  
“Grenades?” Jarvan asked.

  
“Drum and a half,” Gospel replied.   
  
“Can you fly?”   
  
“After taking that break? Yeah.”    
  
Jarvan put his back against a large pipe next to the tunnel entrance, manifesting his Shield and bracing his arms. “Come get a boost.”   
  
“TEN!”   
  
Gospel leapt from the ledge of the Seeder building, gliding until her feet landed on Jarvan’s shield,and the Titan thrust the two upward with a grunt, catapulting her into the air until she landed atop the destroyed wall of the complex. There, she could see all through the scope of her scout rifle; Liam, standing behind the exit of the tunnel, hammer at the ready; Paul, one foot in the slowly-rising Overtime zone, a grenade primed in his right hand.   
  
“He wants to clothesline you again, J.”   
  
Jarvan chuckled, reloading his shotgun.   
  
“FIVE!”   
  
“Let’s clutch one out, G.”   
  
Jarvan began his dash down the tunnel when his radar lit up.  _ Liam. _ He immediately broke into a slide out of the tunnel’s exit, looking through the Chaperone’s scope as, like clockwork, Liam’s arm swung outward to strike him with his Hammer.    
  
_ BANG. _   
  
“ _ ARRGH!! _ ” Liam screamed, the only other sounds being a light  _ thud _ and a loud  _ clang _ as the Hammer--and his forearm--fell to the ground behind the Sentinel. Jarvan immediately kicked outward into the side of his kneecap, generating an audible  _ crack _ as it telescoped out of its socket and elicited another agonizing yell from his adversary.   
  
“OVERTIME! And an upset!” Shaxx yelled.   
  
“Shit!” Paul exclaimed, leaving the Overtime Zone and raising his arm to throw the lightning grenade when a shot rang out from on high. The grenade detonated in his hand, destroying his impact shielding instantly and forcing him to hide behind cover. It didn’t help; Gospel immediately jumped from the roof, gliding down with her grenade launcher and destroying the Striker’s protection in a hail of explosions.   
  
Jarvan concentrated Void energy in his palm, bringing a hard punch into Liam’s abdomen. Liam shuffled upward until he was sitting straight against the exit wall, struggling to get up and finding no leverage with which to do so, as Jarvan took a slow walk into the Overtime zone, shotgun at the ready, and exhaled a long breath as he found Paul’s Ghost floating above his lifeless body.   
  
Gospel floated downwards, meeting the Sentinel as the ring of light slowly turned blue around them. “So what’re you gonna do?”   
  
“About?”   
  
“Amelie. Since it looks like you’re determined to win anyways.”   
  
“Y’know, takin’ that asshole’s arm off got me thinkin’.” Jarvan stowed his shotgun, crossing his arms. “You might be right.”   
  
“About?” Gospel cocked her head to one side as the Overtime zone filled with blue.   
  
“WHAT A COMEBACK! Round three goes to the Knights, out of NOWHERE!”   
  


Jarvan removed his helmet, revealing his usual devilish smile.    
  
“I might just shoot her in the face.”

\----------------------------------------------------------

The Guardian was excited beyond words. A seemingly boring round turned into a clean sweep in the last seconds. He was a tad conflicted, though; Jarvan was a charming face and clearly a fearsome fighter, and seeing the dichotomy between him and his new mentor fostered a curiosity about the nature of their friendship. On the other hand, Liam was his friend, and while their fights were intensely entertaining he almost felt bad about rooting for his opponents. Almost.   
  
Amelie spent the past minute or so cursing under her breath. Her eyes didn’t leave the basement of the Seeder building until the moment Jarvan and Gospel emerged. A dizzying array of thoughts were at play.  _ No way he told her about it. She’d kill him. But what if she didn’t? She knows the Praxics, she could have him executed. Or worse, have  _ **_him_ ** _ executed. Worse still, what if she reports him? That’d be exactly what he wants-- _   
  
“Amelie, are you okay?” The Guardian asked once again.   
  
“I’m  _ fine _ ,” she snapped, turning to him, her thumb still in her mouth. “What do you want?”

“You’re, uh…” He pointed gently at her thumb, and the slowly welling redness under the canine that held it. “...you’re bleeding.”   
  
She looked down, seeing the break in the skin she’d unwittingly caused herself. “Shit,” she muttered, pocketing her hand. “It’s nothing, I’m good.”   
  
“Amelie.” He reached to put his hand on her shoulder.   
  
“You’re not Ikora,” she said, taking a step back. “You put a hand on me without my permission, the hand comes off.”   
  
“But seriously, what’s been going on? You’ve been acting like you’re gonna get shot in the face if you lose.”   
  
“It’s personal,” she said, bluntly.   
  
“So personal, you bet it on your friend and his friends beating the shit out of each other over it?”   
  
“...” She pursed her lips gently, delving back into pensiveness. Her eyes shot up for a moment, looking to her student as he rooted for Jarvan and Gospel, and an idea formed.   
  
“You’ll find out if he wins. Deal?”   
  
He formed what equivalent of a smile his face could form, turning back to the match.   
  
“Let’s go, Jarvan,” he whispered.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PinkRambo's words to me when brainstorming her character was "Jarvan is the nicest guy you could ever meet. Except in the Crucible--then he's a fucking asshole." Nothing says "fucking Crucible asshole" to me like a slide shotgunner. (Hopefully those of you who've played more than five minutes of PvP can agree.)


	8. Two-v-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unlike Gospel, Jarvan DID come here to 2v1 some Iron Lords.

“Round four!” Shaxx announced. “Two-one, Knights!”   
  
“Let’s wrap this up in a bow, Jarvan,” Gospel declared.   
  
Jarvan looked at her, and formed a smile. “Thanks, G.”   
  
The Sentinel surged forward out of the lake, taking cover behind the outermost wall of the Seeder basement as his companion took up a lookout post atop the water tank. There, she took her scout rifle and made her lay of the land.   
  
A red light burnt in front of the sun. A silhouette.   
  
“Shit,” she uttered. “Jarvan, I’m--”   
  
_ CRACK. _   
  
Jarvan gasped. “Gospel?” He swapped his shotgun for his line rifle, scoping up to find Psalm floating atop the water tower. Gospel’s body slowly slid down the side of the tower, falling to the ground with a thud. His gaze turned out of the corner to find the same silhouette.  _ Liam _ .   
  
“Crap.”   
  
“ _ Jaaaaaarvaaaaan! _ ” Liam Driver announced across the sightline. “Come out and  _ plaaaaaay! _ ”   
  
“Craaaap,” Jarvan hissed. He weighed his options; reviving Gospel wasn’t one of them. Liam had the sightline covered. “Crap, crap, crap.” Knowing the brothers, Paul was on his way, and with his Arc Light, he wasn’t going to have much luck with his usual weaponry. He manifested the shield on his left arm, coalescing Void energy in his fists, and rounded the corner into the field.   
  
_ BOOM. _   
  
Before Jarvan could react, Paul came crashing into his shield. The resulting impact cratered Jarvan as he fought against the force the Striker exerted against him.   
  
“Thought we were gonna make it easy for you, big man?” Paul growled.   
  
“I don’t know if I’d call this hard, Jarvan grunted, “but it’s fun as hell.”    
  
He took a backstep, pivoting his foot and sending Paul cratering into the ground behind him. The Striker rebounded almost immediately, bursting forward and bringing another punch into Jarvan’s Shield. The two went back and forth in equal measure, Paul’s superior speed and dual fists clashing in near-perfect harmony with Jarvan’s massive Shield and protective Void armor. Their fight left craters and impact scars from the Seeder building straight down the main sightline towards Bravo Zone--   
  
_ Bravo Zone. _ “Shit!” Jarvan switched his Shield to his right hand in a brief reprieve, pivoting just in time to deflect a shot from Liam’s sniper rifle.   
  
“Forget about me, Jarvan?!” Liam exclaimed from atop the truck. Jarvan growled, propelling herself upward to attack the Sunbreaker, only to be met with a crash from his right side. Paul leapt up, jumped off the side of the truck and concentrated his Arc energy into his left arm, slamming into Jarvan with a brutal shoulder charge that sent them both crashing into the complex.   
  
“You’re not the only ones that caught a break last round, big man,” Paul grunted, rising from the dirt and dusting off his armor. Jarvan grunted, using his Shield to hoist himself back up.   
  
“And I…” Jarvan panted lightly. “...an’ I thought  _ Liam _ didn’t shut up.” Paul lurched forward with a long right swing, and Jarvan blocked with his shield, sidestepping to deflect his momentum away from him. Paul straightened himself up, and dove back in; behind cover, Jarvan had significantly less to worry about. Without the sniper poised to take aim at him, he had more time to focus on the onslaught the elder Driver led upon him. Every jab hit a Shield. Every heavy strike was sidestepped or parried. Paul finally led with a right cross, which Jarvan caught under his arm, countering by bringing his shield into Paul’s face. He took a backstep, dazed, and Jarvan took the opportunity to drive a Void-focused palm into the Titan’s abdomen, forcing his back to slam into the opposite wall.   
  
Paul got up quickly; his Arc Light formed a protective shield around his front, though not as strong as the Void field Sentinels could produce. However, he looked down to find that a piece of Void energy had bonded to his abdomen. It was warm against his stomach, and swirled with energy, but began to burn if he brought his hand too close to it.   
  
“What the hell…” he muttered, his gaze returning to a smirking Jarvan.   
  
“Void Detonator,” the Sentinel replied. “That’s strike one.”   
  
Paul shook himself off, pushing back into the melee. Despite having plenty of energy with which to amplify himself, he found himself slowing down; the Void Detonator on his chest began to burn whenever his own Light drew too close to it, forcing him to restrict his moves. Jarvan immediately took advantage, being able to parry,deflect and grab his way out of his attacks with even greater ease than before, until he grabbed an ongoing lunge and pushed him in the opposite direction, his body half-crashing through the wall.   
  
\-------------------------------------------------   
  
“Psalm?”   
  
“Were you delving again?”   
  
“Yes.”   
  
“Did you figure out what you’re having for breakfast tomorrow?”   
  
A small laugh. “No, Psalm. Focusing. How’s Jarvan?”   
  
“Fighting. Hard.”   
  
A smile. “How’s my Light?”   
  
\---------------------------------------------------   
  
“Done already?” Jarvan asked. He dismissed his Shield and Void barrier, pulling his shotgun and leveling it to the back of Paul’s head, when his radar blinked.  _ Liam. _ He ducked to avoid two rounds of sniper fire, then lifted his brother out of the rubble of the destroyed wall, using him as a shield as he exited the complex.   
  
Liam growled as he gazed through his scope. He had no shot, and the Void Detonator made it dangerous to shoot through him. “Okay,” he grunted, and the Sunbreaker stowed his sniper rifle, rolling off of the truck and onto his feet.   
  
“Let him go,” Liam said, lifting his hammer and lighting it.   
  
“Fat chance,” Jarvan leered. “Unlike my lady friend, I  _ did _ come here to two-v-one some Iron Lords.”   
  
Jarvan kicked Paul forward into the arms of his brother, causing Liam to immediately lurch forward to catch him--and fired his shotgun. Liam mustered a scream, but it got stuck in his mouth as he looked down at his brother; the Void Detonator had begun to expand rapidly, covering Paul’s body in a burst of Void energy. He immediately threw the deteriorating body aside, leaping away before it detonated in a burst of Light, the heat of it nearly searing his feet through his armor. He landed behind Jarvan, forming a reflective image--Jarvan standing between him and his brother’s Ghost, and himself keeping Jarvan from Gospel’s.

“Let’s settle this like Titans.” Liam pulled his sword from his back, snapping his rifle sling off of his back and allowing his gun to clatter to the ground.   
  
Jarvan chuckled. “Alrighty, then.” He manifested his Shield, doing the same to his own sling as his SMG and linear fusion rifle dropped behind him.   
  
\-------------------------------------   
  


“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”   
  
“Unfortunately not, Gospel.”   
  
“Does he not know what a Wolfhowl does?”   
  
“Either he doesn’t know or he doesn’t care.”   
  
“Really though, my Light?”   
  
“Barely enough for Radiance.”   
  
“How barely is ‘barely’?”

“It’s gonna burn you out if you use it now.”   
  
A pensive hum. “How bad?”   
  
“ _ Bad. _ ”   
  
\------------------------------------

Liam surged forward, his blade clashing against the Shield, and immediately made a swipe with the Hammer into the side of the barrier. Jarvan immediately moved in with the momentum, spinning around to go in for a lunge with the Shield, only to be met with a two-handed guard from both of the Sunbreaker’s burning armaments. Their eyes locked.   
  
“I’m not my brother, ‘J’.” Liam said, a hint of spiteful sarcasm in his voice.   
  
They continued to lock, exchange, and weave in and out of combat, and Jarvan found himself losing ground. Liam was right, his fighting style was a far cry from his brother; his two-weapon stance offered him a significant range advantage over Paul’s melee combat, and his tendency to switch weapons made reading the swings and the lunges difficult. He spun after another attempt to disarm him and made a lunge forward with the Shield, only to be blocked by the hammer as Liam took a lunge with the Wolfhowl, slashing into the Sentinel’s right leg.

“ _ Argh! _ ” Jarvan winced at the attack as it seared his leg, and brought his Shield down to knock the blade from his hand, but he immediately retracted his arm, poising for his left to strike. “Dammit!” The Sentinel immediately ducked beneath the shield as the hammer came from below, sending him flying into the ruined complex with a violent explosion of fire against Void.

He grunted, rising from the rubble of a destroyed wall, and noticed a faint tinge of red on the inside of his helmet; an indicator he was bleeding, as the crash had broken his impact shielding. He began to pat himself down in examination—even a crash of that caliber shouldn’t have completely depleted his shields, especially if blocked—until he reached his leg. There, under a severed armor joint, he could feel a searing gash that burned with Solar Light. On the fringes of it, he could feel his own Void Light in wisps at the edges, waiting for the fire to ebb so it could fulfill its function and heal its host—but the fire refused to die.

“Stings like a bitch, huh, ‘J’?” Liam yelled from outside of the complex.   
  
Suddenly, a violet light erupted from the dust and rubble, and the Sentinel’s Shield came flying at Liam. Wide-eyed, the Sunbreaker took a defensive stance with his two weapons, and the Shield came spinning into him, the force pushing him back a few feet. He growled as the pressure continued to push him backwards, and he could feel the burn of his heels skidding against ground. Finally he let out a yell, rearing back his left arm and swinging his Hammer of Sol upward, sending the Shield spinning into the air.   
  
Jarvan smirked. The moment Liam’s gaze turned up, Jarvan burst from the rubble, tackling the Sunbreaker to the ground. Before Liam could bring up either of his arms, the Sentinel reformed his Shield, using it to knock the Hammer and the Wolfhowl from the younger Driver’s hands.   
  
“My name is Jarvan, you son of a bitch,” he uttered, dismissing the Shield in favor of bringing a bevy of punches into his opponent’s face. “Not J,” he grunted, “Not Jar, not That-Asshole-with-the-Shield.” He dragged Liam to his feet, bringing a final punch into his gut as he laid another Void Detonator on him. “ _ Jarvan. _ ” He immediately took him by his belt and neck, and tossed him into the air before throwing his Shield after him. LIam barely managed to muster a scream as the Shield impacted the Void Detonator directly, detonating the Titan in a showery fireworks of Void Light.   
  
Jarvan’s shield arm stayed in the air as he panted, his eyes to the sky and the sound of his own labored breath the only thing audible in the arena for an uncomfortable amount of time, until--

“THREE-ONE, KNIGHTS!  _ THE KNIGHTS WIN!!! _ ”   
  
Shaxx’ voice reverberated in his mind as they did throughout the arena, and through the displays of everyone who saw the match. The moment they did, the three previously-red Ghosts turned blue as their revival privileges were reinstated, and they reconstituted themselves. Liam and Paul silently regrouped with one another, as Gospel flew down and took Jarvan by the shoulder, helping keep him on his feet.   
  
“Does…” Jarvan grunted as she walked him towards the observation building, cursing under his breath at the wound that still refused to heal. “...does this mean we’re good, G?”   
  
  
“Good?” She let out a dry laugh. “Far from good.” She brought him into the elevator upwards, before hitting the emergency stop button.   
  
“Not--” he coughed a bit. “Not now, G, I’m not in the mood,” he chuckled lightly.   
  
“Secret like this, you’re gonna owe me big time,” she said with a blunt tone.   
  
“Yes, ma’am.”   
  
“I’m talking Shattered Throne debt. Skolas debt. Charting the Garden debt.”   
  
“ _ Yes, ma’am, _ ” he repeated, a mix of exasperated and exhausted.

“Maybe I’ll take you on one of my delves, and you can get eaten by Thrall while makin’ sure Psalm doesn’t get killed before he revives me--”   
  
Jarvan raised his hands. “Gospel!” He sighed. “I get it. You’re pissed. I don’t deserve your friendship. But if you’re expectin’ an apology outta me, I’m sorry. You’re not gonna get it.” He released the emergency stop, bringing Gospel into a hug. “You’re one of my closest friends, and one day, once I figure all this shit out, I promise you I’mma explain everything.”   
  
“You better.”   
  
“I just promised, ain’t I?” He finally mustered a full-throated laugh as a cool sensation began to wash over him, from his inner legs outward; his Light had finally managed to seal that wound, and the rest of his body was healing. “I will. But you gotta gimme time to get all this craziness sorted. Deal?”   
  
Gospel sighed, giving him a small smile as he returned the hug. “Deal.”   
  
Their embrace was interrupted by the elevator finally making its way to the top floor. Frames were surrounding Lord Shaxx as he exploded in jubilation, somewhere in the very back he could make out Amelie and her new student--and next to the Crucible Warlord, there stood another Guardian, in relative plainclothes compared to her horned companion. The moment she saw the open elevator door, and the Guardians walking out, she immediately grabbed Shaxx by the horn, a gesture that threw the Sentinel for a loop.   
  
“ _ Shaxx! _ ” she yelled sternly. “Your champions, I presume?”   
  
His gaze turned immediately to Jarvan and Gospel, and he broke out into a booming laugh. “Yes, yes, yes,  _ yes, yes, yes, YES! _ ” He immediately dashed over to them, bringing them both into a massive hug that threatened to give their Ghosts cause to revive them.   
  
“Boss, we kinda--” Jarvan put his hand on Shaxx’ shoulder. “--need our necks! Please!”   
  
“Ooooh, you beautiful  _ bastard _ , Jarvan!” He finally let go. “The absolute  _ fireworks _ you made of Liam Driver! Spectacular! And  _ you _ !” He turned to the Warlock, taking her hands in his. “I’ve not seen such aptitude with the Wings of Sacred Dawn in an age! What the hell are you doing in Control?!”   
  
“Well, sir, I don’t really play too much Cru--”   
  
“You should be out  _ here _ ! In Rumble, in Elimination matches! Hell, find me another Guardian like you and Jarvan, I’d send you to Osiris’ craziness on Mercury! What a display of power--!”   
  
Gospel cut him off, his exuberance and enthusiasm putting her off slightly, even given her experience with the likes of Jarvan. “With all due respect,  _ sir _ ,” she replied, “I prefer to spend more of my time out there, making more of a difference.”   
  
“Oh--” Shaxx let her go, instead taking her hand for a handshake. “--of course, of course, what am I saying--my apologies. Amazing job of it though!” He then placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “Sure sent the Wolves packing, tails between their legs and all--”   
  
“ _ Shaaaaxx!! _ ” The female tapped him on the shoulder before grabbing and pulling him in her direction with some considerable strength.   
  
“Y-y-yes, ma’am!” he yelled. Jarvan and Gospel both cocked an eyebrow.  _ Ma’am?! _ _   
_ _   
_ “What did I tell you about accosting my boys?”  _ ‘My boys?’ _   
  
“Apologies, Milady,” Shaxx muttered, out of Jarvan’s earshot but well within his Exo companion’s enhanced hearing range.  _ Milady?! _

The woman then dashed over to the two, a delighted gait framing her arrival. “Aaaaand you two.”   
  
They immediately stood at attention. “Ma’am!”   
  
She immediately nudged both of their sides with her elbow. “Oh, don’t ‘ma’am’ me, I’m not your commander or anything. Good job out there! Sure Saladin’s gonna give those two an earful.”   
  
Jarvan snickered slightly. “That was the idea, Miss.”   
  
Gospel turned to him. “‘Miss’? You too?!”   
  
“I’m respectful to everybody, G, you know that.” He gave a light bow to the green-and-silver-clad woman. “‘Specially an Iron Lady.”   
  
“Still a no, then, Jarvan?” she asked.   
  
“As always, Miss, you know how I am.”   
  
“Wonderful. Waste of your talents, going to the Peak and throwing fire at a bunch of hapless Fallen all day.”   
  
“Saladin still gonna be pissed?”   
  
“When have you known him to be anything else?” She jaunted into the transmat pad. “Great seeing you! Great meeting you, Gospel.”   
  
“Likewise,” they replied in tandem as she transmatted out.   
  
“Well,” Gospel sighed, “I think I should probably be going too.”   
  
“Already?” Jarvan asked.   
  
“You’ve got an appointment, I think.” Gospel pointed behind him, a look of slight contempt on her face as she backed into the elevator, closing the door.   
  
Jarvan turned solemnly to the other end of the observation bay, to find Amelie waiting for him. Her arms were crossed, her thumb having at some point returned between her lips, and she seemed to be looking back outward at the Rusted Lands--likely to avoid having to look at, let alone talk to, her student. The Guardian was an absolute ball of excitement, making all manner of noises while re-enacting pieces of the fight with a frame.   
  
The fledgling Hunter took note of him, and broke off with the frame to meet him as he made his way toward the two. “Jarvan, you were freakin’ amazing!”   
  
He laughed nervously. “Yeah, I definitely kicked some ass out there.”   
  
“‘Kicked ass’? You  _ destroyed _ them!”   
  
“Hey.” Jarvan put a hand on the Guardian’s shoulder, using the leverage to move past him and toward Amelie. “Don’t gimme all the credit. It was hard as hell, and Gospel always had my back.” He quickly jogged to the edge of the floor, where Amelie continued to stand in silence.   
  
“You won,” she uttered, her hand finally leaving her mouth.   
  
“You knew I would,” he replied, his smile fading into what could almost be seen as a scowl.   
  
“I really didn’t.” Her stance turned from the wide window to face the Titan. “I was actually curious to see what you’d do.”

“Well, you know I don’t do losing,” Jarvan explained dryly, “not when I can afford it.”

“Guess not.” Amelie picked up her sniper rifle, slinging it over her shoulder. “Okay, newbie! We’re moving out.”   
  
The Guardian ran up to meet her and Jarvan. “You gonna tell me what you two bet now?”   
  
“Better.”    
  
The three made their way to the transmat pads at the end of the room, being teleported back to their respective ships. The Guardian was surprised to find that his ship was gone, replaced with a completely different one parked in its place. This one was smaller, and colored a starkly contrasting black-and-neon-green, with four wings and a significantly more aerodynamic frame. Stuck to the inside of the cockpit was a note;

[Need my baby back, buddy. Dug this out of a Fallen den and fixed it up. Enjoy. ~L]   
  
As the three brought their respective ships roaring to life, Amelie’s voice came through his ship comms.   
  
“Our good buddy Jarvan here is gonna  _ show _ you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Guardian's new ship is Ketch Me If You Can.


	9. Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for Jarvan to make good on his end of the Dare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going into the fun territory.
> 
> As always, your feedback is appreciated!

Another short near-light-speed jump brought the two Hunters back into the Old Russian Cosmodrome, hot on the tail of their Sentinel friend. Past the Skywatch, the three made their way to another part of the massive Cosmodrome complex, a wide open field around which the hallways and buildings that made it up wound a long square frame of long-rusted steel. Small warehouses were peppered over the field; some still upright and standing despite the test of time; some succumbing to structural weakness, though determining the cause, whether they be from time or turmoil, would be nigh-impossible to do now. The Guardian’s ship HUD came with two words, indicating their location: THE BLAST.   
  
The three Guardians disembarked from their ships on the far side of the Blast. On the other side, they could clearly see a rusted out, tank-like machine. It boasted six massive legs instead of wheels, and boasted a multitude of heavy weapons that captivated the Guardian’s attention.   
  
“The hell  _ is _ that thing?” he asked.   
  
“A Walker,” Amelie replied. “Fallen artillery weapon. Rapid-fire plasma guns, rechargeable EMP dislocators, shock pulse guns, anti-aircraft missiles, sentry production suite. Scary stuff if you don’t know how to kill it.”   
  
“And that is?”   
  
“Go for the legs,” Jarvan interjected. “Pop a leg, disables the system for a few seconds. Opens a nice little sweet spot right here.” He put his thumb to his neck.   
  
“Cool,” he whispered, making note of two damaged legs on the right side, as well as the exposed and destroyed neck of the machine.   
  
“Enough chitchat.” Amelie looked around the field. “Jarvan, where’d you hide him? Sepiks’ chamber?”   
  
“No,” he replied flatly, his usual joviality drained from his voice. “Further up.”   
  
The trio passed the Walker, heading through a long, winding series of stairways and platforms, until reaching a massive indoor chamber. It was in a terrible state of decay--something, likely an age-old explosive, tore a massive hole in the building’s ceiling, allowing the elements to take over a decent portion of the chamber by way of a slowly flooding floor and an assortment of greenery hanging from the open gash--but still stood, as did a series of inner rooms across the way. Jarvan pointed clear across the room, at a wide entrance to another long hallway, and the Guardian took note of a particularly concerned expression crossing the face of his mentor.   
  
“Jarvan?” Amelie asked, with a creeping sense that she knew the answer to her next question. “ _ Where _ did you put him?”   
  
“‘Him’?” the Guardian asked. “You bet a person?”   
  
“Something like that,” she replied, her gaze never moving from the Titan’s back. “Jarvan?”   
  
For the first time since the Guardian had seen him, the Titan was silent. He walked down a destroyed bridge in the center of the chamber until just before his feet hit the water, before using his lift thrusters to cross over the water onto a scaffold in front of the hall.    
  
“Um…” The Guardian gave himself a once-over. “Pretty sure we don’t have those.”    
  
“Don’t need ‘em,” Amelie said, clicking her heels lightly. “Concentrate Light under your feet, and imagine a stepping stone. Then…” She then took off into a run, jumping off of the platform. Just when her foot would’ve touched the water, a font of Light burst forth from her foot, both granting her altitude and forward momentum as she made her way to the scaffold to join Jarvan.   
  
“Okay..stepping stone. Stepping stone, stepping stone…” The Guardian backed up to the entrance, then broke into a sprint before jumping from a ledge. Almost immediately, he felt the sun-like warmth in his heels as the Light concentrated and erupted--sending him hurtling into the opposite wall at an unusual speed. He crashed violently into it, spilling out onto the scaffold and nearly rolling off into the water.   
  
“Ugh…” He wrestled to his feet, Ty emerging to check for any injuries.   
  
Amelie stifled a giggle. “Gotta watch how your feet are placed. Too far angled up, you double-jump backwards, too far down, you go forward instead of up.”   
  
“Yeah, great to know that  _ now _ ,” he uttered, heading into the hallway.   
  
The hallway led to a massive vault door that Jarvan seemed to be tending to. He seemed to be entering a series of codes into a pad alongside the door.   
  
“So who’s this ‘him’?” the Guardian asked, leaning on the wall opposite his mentor.   
  
“Can’t talk about him without talking about somebody else,” Amelie replied with a sigh. “While back, there was a Hunter by the name of Cayde. An Exo, like you. Cayde-6.”   
  


“Was?”   
  
“He’s dead.”   
  
The Guardian laughed. “Hell do you mean, ‘dead’? We’re immortal, right?”   
  
Silence.   
  
The Guardian’s face dropped. “ _ Right _ ?”   
  
“No,” Amelie said. “Our Ghosts are our connections to the Light. To the Traveler. They die, we’re as mortal as anyone else.”   
  
“Oh.” The Guardian’s gaze turned to Ty, whose lights seemed to form an expression implying solemnity.   
  
“Anyway,” she continued, “Long time ago, Cayde lost a Dare. The terms of which propelled him to the position of Hunter Vanguard.”   
  
“Wait,” the Guardian interjected. “You decide who’s gonna lead your branch of the Vanguard on a  _ dare _ ?”   
  
“Dares are a big facet of Hunter society. They’re important. They’re binding. And a Hunter never goes back on a Dare.” She nodded her head in Jarvan’s direction. “You wanna make sure a Hunter’s gonna be honest or get something done? Dare ‘em.”   
  
“Or any Guardian, really,” Jarvan added, transitioning to turning the vault’s wheel.   
  
“Anyway,  _ again _ , eventually, about a year ago now, he and another Guardian get a distress call. Prison break out in the Reef, which is this colony out in the Asteroid Belt. Turns out some asshole broke out with a bunch of juiced-up Fallen, killed most of the guards. Cayde went forward to investigate…” She closed her eyes, her breathing growing uneasy. “...Alone.”

“...” The Guardian looked sadly at his mentor. “What happened?”

“They beat him,” she replied. “Shot his Ghost to pieces right in front of him. Beat him again. And then  _ he _ , their leader…” Amelie sniffed, and the Guardian’s attention turned to her to find that her face had contorted into a malicious scowl, almost audibly fighting tears as she continued. “...he executed Cayde. With his own gun.”

“Did you guys…” The Guardian hesitated to say the words. “Did you find his body?”   
  
“Yeah. The Guardian he was with eventually realized where he went and went after him, but he was too late. He brought Cayde’s body back here for us. To the Tower, I mean. We had a memorial and all that.”   
  
“So this guy you two keep talking about, it’s him?  _ Him _ , him?”   
  
“Yup. When Cayde died, Ikora organized a massive hunt across the Reef for him and his lieutenants, his...Barons.” Amelie pulled out her sniper rifle for a moment. “This masterpiece here helped me blow the head off one of them, the Rifleman.”   
  
“My muscles are a lotta things, Am,” Jarvan interjected once more, “but ‘masterpiece’ might be overstatin’ it.”   
  
“Shut up, Jarvan,” she retorted, managing a small laugh. “But yes, Jarvan did help me in tracking him down. But  _ he _ ...the guy who actually  _ killed _ Cayde? He got off easy.”   
  
“And what? Jarvan, you managed to find him?”   
  
Jarvan turned from his work for a moment to answer, when Amelie interjected. “That’s right, he did.” Her face turned from cathartic to almost morbid excitement. “And the Dare was to let me have first crack at him before anything else.”   
  
“Good shit finding him, then, Jarvan,” the Guardian replied.   
  
“...” Jarvan scowled, returning to the vault door. “Leavin’ some stuff out there, Am.”

After another few moments, the two Hunters heard a loud  _ thunk _ of shifting metal, as the lock for the vault door slid down, allowing Jarvan to use a considerable amount of his own strength to wrest it open. Beyond, the Guardian could make out another set of scaffolds, with various doors leading to different parts of the complex. Only one was open.   
  
“Wasn’t this door open before?” Amelie asked, a not-so-subtle attempt to lead Jarvan as the three crossed through it.   
  
“Fixed it up,” he replied flatly. “This place has been dead as a doornail ever since we cleared out the Taken, so once I made use of the place I went about sprucin’ it up a lil’.”   
  
“Jarvan, tell me we’re taking a transmat somewhere else.”   
  
“Nope.”   
  
“Tell me you’re joking.”   
  
“I joke about a lotta shit, Amelie. Not this.”   
  
“You hid him  _ here. _ ”   
  
The open door led them into an antechamber before a large, three-pronged elevator shaft. Jarvan rushed forward, pulling three levers that caused three separate pulley systems to begin rotating. A cacophony of loud sounds, of creaking metal and collapsing dust, could be heard from wherever the apex of this shaft happened to be.   
  
“Yeah. I hid him here.”   
  
“You son of a bitch.”   
  
“Last place you woulda thought to look, right?” The first elevator arrived rather quickly, and Jarvan politely motioned for Amelie to step inside. “After you. Ladies first, and all that.”   
  
The two exchanged a look which startled and intimidated the Guardian. For the first time he’d seen, the look Amelie gave Jarvan was one of utter malice, of someone deeply betrayed in the truest sense; but Jarvan’s face was...flat. Somber. It didn’t evoke anger, at least not to the degree that hers did.   
  
Amelie entered the elevator. “You and I are going to have a conversation when I’m done with him, Jarvan,” she uttered, looking up.   
  
Her eyes widened. She’d been played. “ _ Shit! _ ”   
  
He saw.  _ Cat’s outta the bag. Shit. _   
  
Jarvan suddenly lurched forward, kicking Amelie in the back, the force of which propelled her into the far wall of the elevator. Before she could get up to retaliate, he immediately slammed the wire door shut, engaging the dumbwaiter and sending her up the elevator.   
  
“Jarvan, what the hell’re you doing?!” the Guardian exclaimed.   
  
“Givin’ you the whole story, kid.” Jarvan took the Guardian by the shoulder, bringing him outside and to another one of the doors, which he opened to reveal a transmat pad. This one was nothing like the ones at the Crucible arena, though; it was crude, wiring was exposed in parts, and it seemed as though it had been jury-rigged together from assorted odd-ends of unused technology.   
  
“Get in,” the Sentinel ordered.   
  
“Not until you tell me what the hell’s going on,” the Guardian replied.   
  
“I’ll explain everything once you  _ get in _ ! We don’t have a lotta time before she catches up.” 

Jarvan stepped onto the pad, transmatting immediately, and the Guardian waited until the process was finished before hesitantly stepping on himself. A faint  _ whoosh _ and a pulling sensation had him suddenly shunted upwards, until settling on a near-identical pad. His body’s barometric sensors indicated to him that he had made about a four-hundred foot ascent in the past two seconds.   
  
“Where are we?” he asked.   
  
“Buildin’s roof,” Jarvan responded. The two looked up to find themselves in the underbelly of a huge steel sphere. Much of the outer plating had been either rusted or shot off, but the endoskeleton of the thing was still very much intact despite likely centuries of being inert. “Old colony ship. Housin’ people in cryo-stasis.”   
  
“He in one of these?”   
  
“Nah, he’s hidin’.”   
  
“And Amelie? What was that about?”    
  
“Only one elevator works,” he replied. “I never told her I rigged up a transmat, so I sent her up the long way. Buys us a few minutes to talk.”   
  
“About? Cause last I checked, you just kicked my mentor into an elevator shaft.”   
  
“Her little story’s got some holes in it, kid.” Jarvan sighed, sitting down on a console.   
  
“...” The Guardian sat opposite the Titan. “...Fine. Talk to me.”   
  
“The man that murdered Cayde-6?” Jarvan sighed. “He was killed. He’s dead.”   
  
“Wait, what’re you talking about?”   
  
“The Guardian that was with him when he died, that took his body home to be memorialized. They hunted him to the ends of the system. Eventually tracked him right back to his home. Place called the Dreamin’ City.” Jarvan took a deep breath. “My home too, apparently.”   
  
“You and this guy are from the same place?”   
  
“Yeah, my previous life was spent there before I died somewhere else.” He pointed at his armor. “This armor? It’s customary Awoken armor, refitted for Guardian use.”   
  
“It’s cool.”   
  
“I like it too.” Jarvan mustered a smile. “Back to the story. Yeah. He’s dead.”   
  
“So, what?” The Guardian’s head cocked slightly. “You’ve got his body?”   
  
“Something like that--”   
  


The Guardian’s infrared sensors flashed an alarm in his brain, and his hearing detected an anomaly in the same area.  _ Massive heat buildup. Knives. Ten meters. _

The Guardian’s head jerked to the left, behind one of the buildings, where a single ball of flame burst outward towards him. He jumped in a corkscrew to avoid the weapon, unsheathing his blade and hand cannon in response. He heard a  _ chink _ of knife against old steel as it impacted the wall behind him, and he could make out the soft curve of a throwing knife before it seemed to fade away in a spark of flame.   
  
“Solar Light?” The Guardian was astounded. Another three knives burst out from behind the barrier, causing the Guardian to roll outward to avoid them, using his hand cannon to shoot the other two out of the air.   
  
“What have you done, Jarvan?!” A male voice yelled from behind the building.   
  
“Nothin’, V, he’s a friend!” Jarvan yelled back.   
  
“I dunno if I’d go that far,” the Guardian added, his hand cannon leveled at the edge of the building.   
  
In a flash, Jarvan drew the Chaperone from its holster, leveling it at the Guardian. “Drop it.”   
  
Suddenly, a voice came in on both their comms arrays, as a dot became visible on Jarvan’s right temple. “You first.”   
  
_ Amelie. _ She knew the pathway through this place inside and out; from her forays with the Hunter Vanguard; from her own occasional needs to find a place to hide. But she’d not set eyes on the place since Cayde’s death, and wasn’t privy to Jarvan’s knowledge of this place, let alone his…’improvements’.   
  
Finally, a man walked out from behind the building, and the Guardian, Jarvan and Amelie all turned to face him in tandem. He was another Awoken, rather tall, with sleek, jet black hair parted to one end to keep it out of his yellow-orange eyes. Adorning his frame was a long red scarf, draped to conceal the tell-tale Hunter armor laid beneath, with the exception of his legwear; two long, scaled boots, insulated for stealth. A fifth flaming blade twirled in his right hand, but his expression belied the precision with which he threw them. He looked scared. Nervous. Particularly towards the Guardian.   
  
“Who is this man, Jarvan?” the Awoken asked, walking slowly to meet the Guardian and his friend.   
  
“Varys, he’s a friend,” Jarvan replied, his open free hand extending outward to the man. “I was just telling him the truth.”   
  
“Which  _ is _ ?” the Guardian interjected. “You told me Cayde’s murderer was dead!”   
  
“He  _ is _ ,” the Sentinel asserted. “He was killed, and revived. As a Guardian.” From behind the Awoken’s head, two things emerged; a porcelain-white mechanical bird, almost resembling a crow; and a pink-and-white object, with the tell-tale blue light and radiating warmth of a Ghost.   
  
“So you’re  _ naming _ him now?” Amelie asked. “Giving him something to hide behind?”   
  
“You and I both know he ain’t the same person, Am!”   
  
“Shut up, Jarvan,” Amelie snarled as she adjusted her scope. “His name isn’t ‘Varys’, and he’s not a Guardian. He’s a murderer.”   
  
“Amelie,  _ don’t you dare! _ ”   
  
The Awoken looked to the side of Jarvan’s head, immediately seeing the glint of a scope from on high, and his eyes widened. “No.”   
  
“His name is Uldren Sov.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varys is a variation on Varis, meaning 'crow' in Finnish. A reference to Uldren's original name during Destiny 1 storyboarding.
> 
> If you wanna see the area in question, play/look up a playthrough of the Cayde's Stash mission from Destiny 1: The Taken King.


	10. Crow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's back things up a bit.

~Eight Months Ago~   
  
The chill echo of a sound long since past shocked him from sleep. He woke with a start, to find his vision blocked by a thin, but opaque white shroud. A small, diamond-shaped object floated in the air above him; he swore he could hear a voice coming from it, exclaiming in joy. He pulled the shroud forward, sitting up from his position, and his eyes widened. The sun was shielded from his eyes by a beautiful, marble-like structure, and beyond he could make out a sprawling, lush landscape of mountains, flowers and an energy that permeated through him and everything else. Behind him, he made out the tower; a massive arch of blade-like structures that acted as entrance into the city beyond.   
  
The diamond returned to his side. “Finally, finally,  _ finally, after centuries!  _ Welcome to the world of the living, Guardia--”   
  
The Ghost ceased its flight pattern a foot from the man’s face. They looked at each other for a long moment. Its light made a pattern consistent with an eye blinking, as it shuddered slightly at the revelation it just underwent. It  _ knew _ this man.   
  
“Who…” the man muttered, slowly.   
  
“‘Who…’?” The Ghost backed up a foot.   
  
“Who are you?”   
  
The Ghost shook a moment, making another strange motion--a sigh of relief. “I’m a Ghost. Your Ghost. Name’s…” The Ghost turned its eye in a slight bit of embarrassment. It hadn’t even spoken its own name in ages, let alone heard it. “Pulled Pork. Name’s Pulled Pork.”   
  
“Pulled...Pork. Pulled Pork.” The man stood up, removing the shroud entirely, a motion that caused the Ghost to back up another two feet in apprehension. “You said ‘world of the living’. Was I...was I dead?”   
  
“Yyyyyyyeah,” Pulled Pork replied. “You were. Not too long, it looks like.”   
  
“And you brought me back,” he continued, looking down at his chest.   
  
“Yup. You’re a Guardian now.”   
  
“Guardian. Is that supposed to mean something to me?”   
  
“Not yet.” Suddenly, Pulled Pork turned to the arch. The Guardian’s head followed, and the two watched six people emerge from behind it. They were all women, all clad in various degrees of purple guard, with identical emblems; a crown of white and gold, within a gold corona.    
  
“Queensguard,” Pulled Pork said. “We gotta get you outta here.”   
  
“Wait a second,” the Guardian interjected, “Why was I buried  _ here _ ? Is this my home?”   
  
“Not anymore, it isn’t.” the Ghost started looking around frantically. “And if they see you up and about, they’re not gonna be happy.”    
  
“Why?”   
  
“We don’t have time. Follow me!”

The Guardian turned to leave, when both he and the Ghost were interrupted by a loud  _ caw!. _ He turned around to find the source of the noise, and found that the shroud had caught on an object at the edge of his resting place. As he approached it, it twitched slightly, another  _ caw _ coming from it.   
  
“Guardian, we have to move!”   
  
The Guardian took the shroud, unfurling it entirely. There, he found a small marble crow, no bigger than his Ghost. Despite clearly looking like it was made of marble, it sported eyes that looked...somewhat mechanical. He reached out to touch it, and the moment his finger impacted its head its wings spread open. It  _ caw _ ed again, shaking itself out and turning silver from marble, before immediately flying up and perching itself upon his left shoulder.   
  
“A crow,” he mumbled.   
  
“ _ Guardian! _ ”   
  
“Yeah, coming!” he yelled back, following Pulled Pork through the outskirts.   
  
\-----------------------------------------------------------

~Seven Months Ago~   
  
The Ceres Galliot made landfall on Mars. Pulled Pork directed them to an old military base of some kind. It was nothing like the sprawling beautyscape of the Dreaming City, nor the smaller outpost colonies of the Reef; the Firebases that colonized Mars seemed never to end, despite their different names, designations, legions that held sovereignty over them. The Guardian had his eyes to his lap as the Ghost piloted the ship in his stead, thoroughly examining the sidearm he’d been carrying for the past four weeks. It was small, compact; it fired plasma ammunition that needed not be reloaded, only charged periodically; and his eyes inevitably became affixed upon the symbol of the Queensguard. As his ship began to power down, a location marker blipped onto the corner of its HUD: Firebase Delphi.   
  
“This should be a good place to stay, for now,” Pulled Pork stated, depressurizing the cockpit so the Guardian could dismount.   
  
“What are we doing here, Porky?” the Guardian asked. “We’ve been bouncing from abandoned colony to abandoned colony for over a month now.”   
  
“Just making our way from here to where we need to go,” he responded.   
  
“‘Where we need to go’,” the Guardian repeated. “That’s this ‘Tower’, right?”   
  
“H-how did you know that?”   
  
“You talk quite a bit when you think I’m not listening,” he said, flatly.

Porky chuckled nervously. “Well, think of this as a tour of the system, Guardian. We’ll be headed to the Tower soon.”   
  
“ _ Caw! _ ”   
  
The Guardian and Pulled Pork’s gazes turned in tandem to the crow on his shoulder. While the Ghost’s eye focused on it, the Guardian’s narrowed, turning back to the diamond.   
  
“Are you lying to me, Porky?”

“Wh-why would you say that?! I’m  _ your _ Ghost, I couldn’t possibly lie to you--”   
  
“ _ Caw! _ ”   
  
The Guardian formed a scowl, a face that caused Pulled Pork to retreat once more.   
  
“You, this Crow and I have been at this a month.  _ A month _ . The only time he speaks--” His thumb pointed to the bird, “--is right after you.” The Ghost started shaking his head. “You’ve been lying to me.”    
  
“I-I…” Pulled Pork was avoiding eye contact. “I don’t know what you’re talking abo--”   
  
In a fluid motion, the Guardian dove forward, grabbing the Ghost out of the air, holding it in his left palm. “Why don’t you want me going to this Tower of yours?”   
  
“...” Pulled Pork whimpered in the Guardian’s grasp.

“Fine,” the Guardian muttered, drawing his gun from its holster and holding it to the diamond’s eye.   
  
“ _ NO!” _ _  
_ [ _ NO. _ ]

The Guardian’s eyes widened, and his gaze slowly turned to the crow, as Pulled Pork wrenched itself free of his grip in his confusion. The Crow looked at him directly, its eyes having changed from their usual inert black to a faint blue.   
  
“You understand me?” the Guardian whispered.   
  
[Y- - _ bzzt- _ Ye-  _ -kzzst- _ Hai. Da. Oui. Si. Sou. - _ krrrrszt-  _ Yes.]

“You can understand, but not speak.”   
  
[Lingua- - _ bzz _ \- Language. Analys- - _ krrrrztst- _ ]

The Guardian held out two fingers from his hand, allowing the Crow to perch on it, and held the bird out to his Ghost. Almost immediately, the eyes of the Crow dilated, releasing a series of lights that seemed to scan him. 

  
“What’re you do--” before Pulled Pork could finish the question, the lights disappeared, and a series of chirps and calls emanated from the Crow’s mouth before it lightly shook its head.

[Language files upda- - _ fzzzt- _ ]   
  
“...” The Guardian’s head is spinning. An artifact from his home, an intelligent one, and it  _ speaks _ . The wealth of knowledge that lay within this approximation of an animal drew a feeling from him that he hadn’t felt since waking up: excitement. A light whimper shook him from his fervor; Pulled Pork quivered in the air like a leaf, as far from his Guardian as he thought he could get. The Guardian looked at him for a long moment, then down at his gun, and sighed, holstering it.   
  
“I’m sorry,” the Guardian said, walking slowly towards Pulled Pork.   
  
“You…” The Ghost righted itself. “You’re ‘sorry’?”   
  
“I shouldn’t have threatened you. I was frustrated.” He allowed the Crow to return to his shoulder as he motioned for his companion to join him. “You had to have a good reason.”   
  
“I did.”   
[He does.]   
  
“And that is?” he asked.   
  
“Well, you--well, the you before--you’re pretty well-known. And...not well-liked.” Pulled Pork seemed a bit reluctant to speak.   
  
“How long have I been dead?”   
  
“Not long.”   
[Five months, Crow-Master.]

Porky and the Guardian both turned to it, looks of confusion on their faces. “Crow- _ Master?!” _   
  
[Yes. You are Crow. I am Crow. But you are Master. Master of Cro--] The Crow began to stutter, and its speech patterns began to variate. [C-cro-  _ -bzzzzt- _ Corvo. Beanna. Vorona. Varna. Varis. Varis. Varis--  _ -krrrzzstztzt- _ ]   
  
“‘Varis’.” Something about the word resonated with him, invoking a feeling that trickled gently from his head down into his extremities.   
  
“Let’s go with…” The Guardian reentered the cockpit, typing five letters into his ship computer’s keyboard. “Varys.”

“I like it,” Pulled Pork exclaimed. Crow cawed in agreement.

Varys smiled.   
  
\----------------------------------------------------

~Six Months Ago~

The Ceres Galliot came out of pulse jump to the sight of a massive, pale-white orb.

“Is that it, Porky?” Varys asked.

“Yup,” Porky responded. Varys was coming to enjoy the chipper way with which his Ghost approached everything. “Planet Earth. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Varys laughed. “Pretty sure I meant the big ball floating right  _ above _ the Earth, buddy.”

“Oh! Yeah. That’s the Traveler. Source of your power and mine.”

[Master. Defense syst-  _ -bzzzt-  _ Defense systems active. Advise approach from low altitude.]

“...I was gonna say that,” Porky muttered.

Pulled Pork brought the Ceres Galliot into the lower atmosphere, beginning an approach from the east. As the ship drew lower, its HUD began to show a series of maps of the surrounding terrain.

“Where is the ship getting these maps from?” Varys asked. “This is an Awoken ship, it shouldn’t have any data on this planet.”

“That’s me!” Porky replied, a hint of excitement in his voice. “I’m not just autopiloting; I’ve been uploading my maps of areas charted by the Vanguard since we started using it!”

Just then, the ship flashed two words, as the map shifted to a new area: Cosmodrome. Mothyards. Atop one of the tallest hills stood an array of massive steel towers supported by sprawling warehouses and rusted-out storage buildings, and the valley beneath was awash with the relics of a civilization long since past. Flight craft that looked to be built to house entire platoons lay inert through the valley, time and conflict showing their wear upon them in equal measure. Pulled Pork landed the ship atop the hill, giving himself, Varys and his Crow a stunning look at the valley below. 

“Then again, I haven’t been on Earth in quite some time,” Porky continued, “but it seems like not much has changed—“

[Master. Incoming. Heavy projectile. Five hundred meters and closing.]

Varys and Pulled Pork immediately drew their attention eastward, where the sound they believed to be a ship passing overhead was revealed to in fact be an incoming rocket.

“Oh, no,” they said in tandem; both of them knew there wasn’t enough time to get the ship flying. Varys jumped from the ledge of the hill, Pulled Pork and his Crow following suit, as the rocket impacted the ship’s hull with a faint  _ thud _ followed by a resounding  _ BOOM. _ The shockwave of the impact sent the fledgling Guardian far further than expected, landing directly on his arm with an excruciating  _ crack _ that he didn’t need to feel to know was a shattered bone.

“Guardian, get to cover!” Pulled Pork exclaimed. “I have to heal you!”

“No time!” Varys yelled in response. In the distant east, he could see the perpetrator reloading his rocket launcher for another round. “Do you have anything fast we can use?”

“I managed to nab a Sparrow from the Dreaming City’s Guardian network, hang on!” 

Pulled Pork focused his Light, outputting a large burst to the ground in front of Varys, and before him materialized a strange and dangerous-looking craft. It seemed to be built from a hodgepodge of old, rusted metals and held together with chains, though the area where one would sit, as well as the controls, seemed to be in very good condition. Varys was slightly impressed by the nose of the craft, sporting two bright, serrated edges he first imagined would serve well as a kind of ramming weapon, until he looked closer—to find the same pieces of plating that held them also housed the Sparrow’s power cell, a burning, humming thing brimming with energy in a housing that looked apt to explode at a moment’s notice, let alone under fire.

Varys didn’t have any time to complain; the moment he took a seat and primed the accelerator, he could hear the sound of the rocket launcher discharging another projectile. The Crow nestled itself in the Guardian’s shirt as they picked up speed, taking off down the hill to avoid the rocket. To his surprise, he turned for a brief moment to find the rocket tracking him aggressively.

[Master. Rocket possesses advanced tracking module. Evasion will be difficult.]

“You think?!” Varys turned sharply across into the field of shattered aircraft, kiting from pathway to pathway as the rocket picked up speed. “This thing is  _ fast!” _ he exclaimed.   
  
“The Sparrow or the rocket?!” Pulled Pork asked.   
  
“ _ Yes _ !”

[Master. Advise taking advantage of surrounding terrain.]   
  
Varys got a better look at his surroundings from up close; the crafts themselves were mostly hollowed out, with multiple points of entry and egress; many of their wings, landing gear and cargo were either collapsed in such a way as to provide additional movement opportunities or to act as temporary cover. The Guardian wound into another path, making his way into the interior of one of the aircraft, only for the rocket to make a sharp turn inward to follow him. Weaving past cargo containers, out of the narrow nose of the ship--it seemed to track them relentlessly through and out of the plane.   
  
“Porky, can you make another one of these?”   
  
“Of course! Why?”   
  
[Warning. Forty meters and closing.]   
  
“That’s why!” Varys eyed the Sparrow’s power cell. “If the rocket’s heat-seeking--”   
  
“Good move! Do it!”

Varys banked around another corner, where he could immediately make out the largest of the fleet of aircraft on the far side of the valley, the wing of which had collapsed at a perfect angle to act as a ramp. He gave the Sparrow as much speed as it could handle, weaving across through planes and around cargo bays, until hitting the ramp. The moment the speeder left the ramp, Varys disengaged its roll stabilizers, and leaning forward caused them to slowly roll until the underbelly of the chassis was behind him.   
  
[Ten meters and closing.]   
  
“Shit!” He immediately leapt from the craft as the rocket made impact, and the shockwave from the impact sent Varys and his companions flying out of the valley and into an old building. He immediately kicked out a support on the door to the structure, causing its old metal gate to slam down.    
  
Pulled Pork appeared from behind his head, beginning to heal his left arm. “That was good thinking on your part, Varys. Crazy, but good.”   
  
“Yeah,” he chuckled. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was able to ponder something. Fleeing certain death from an unstoppable force, in a strange craft...it evoked a feeling of nostalgia deep in his bones that it unsettled him not to be able to place. “Have I ever...done something like that before?”   
  
“I wouldn’t know, Guardian.”   
[Yes, Master.]   
  
Both Porky and Varys turned to the Crow once again. Suddenly, something occurred to the Guardian.   
  
“Why haven’t you been calling me Varys?”   
  
[Master’s designation is not VARYS. Master’s designation is Crow-Mast-- - _ kzzkt- _ ]   
  
  
“...” He wondered. “Crow, do you know my name? My actual name?”   
  
[Yes, Crow-Master. Protocol prohibits me from speaking it.]   
  
“Wha-” Varys became panicked. “Who-- who gave you such a protocol?”   
  
[You did, Mast--]

The Crow and Pulled Pork’s heads both turned northwest.   
  
“Oh, no,” Porky muttered.   
  
“What is it, guys?” Varys whispered.   
  
“Something we can’t avoid.”   
[Mass energy output. Consistency: Void Light. Twenty meters.]   
  
The last thing Varys saw was the building around him dissolving in a sea of violet entropy, before the black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Varys' ship, as stated, is Ceres Galliot.  
> -Varys' Sparrow is Ravager's Ride.  
> -Y'all know what rocket launcher that is. Truth, baybeeeeee~


	11. The Revengers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A captive Guardian suffers a terrible fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Beyond Light gonna totally invalidate all of this? Of course it is. That's what the "Canon Divergence" tag is for.
> 
> As always, your feedback is appreciated!

Five ships landed a quarter mile outside of the former Rusted Lands Crucible Staging Ground. Out of the first, an Exo disembarked, to be met by his four allies; two Titans, a Hunter and another Warlock. The five stood in silence for about a minute before the fermata was broken by a light whirring sound from the Exo’s side. The other four turned their attention to what appeared to be a small, black burlap sack hung from his belt, with the faintest sound of whirring and pulsating coming from it.   
  
“What is that?” The first Titan asked; a female, with the tell-tale voice of an Exo.   
  
“It’s a Ghost,” the Warlock replied, a soft female voice beneath the helm. “Whose Ghost is that, Fukushu?”   
  
“It’s why I brought you here,” he said. “Apologies for calling on you all on such short notice.”   
  
“Wait a sec,” the male Titan said, inserting himself into the conversation. “ _ You’re _ Fukushu-8? Same one that took out the Mad Bomber?”   
  
“Considering a certain attention-hoggin’ Guardian beat me to the Mindbender, yeah. That’s me.”   
  
“Good  _ shit _ !” the Titan exclaimed, reaching out a hand for a fist bump. “Victor Maxwell! I was part ‘a the fireteam that took--”   
  
“The Trickster, right?” the Warlock interjected.   
  
“Yeah! Wait a sec. Are we all here because--”   
  
“We’re all the big game hunters,” Fukushu-8 declared, quieting the crowd. “The big names behind the Siege of the Reef.”   
  
“Save one,” the Hunter said. “Where’s Amelie?”   
  
“On her way, Nate. Back to this.” The Warlock untied the satchel from his belt, holding it out to the party; upon further inspection, the other Guardians found the bag to be inlaid with a litany of runes and inscriptions, the tie holding it closed adorned with Hive talismans.   
  
“What the hell is this, Fukushu?” Nate asked, unnerved by the sight.   
  
“Hidden inscriptions,” the Warlock replied. Nate’s attention turned to her, a bewildered expression crossing his face as though to say, ‘ _ Hell you mean, hidden? They’re right there! _ ’ She scoffed. “Not hidden.  _ Hidden. _ Designed to constrict Light.” She removed her helmet to reveal a haggard Awoken face, a single blinded eye gazing upon the party as the intact one remained affixed to the bag. “Who do you not want rezzing, Fukushu?”   
  
Fukushu-8 smirked. “Someone fun.”   
  
The Exo Warlock walked out without another word, along the bed of the lake leading into the Rusted Lands. One by one, the other four joined him along the lakebed; first Nate, then Victor, and finally the other Titan and Warlock, side-by-side. They looked out at the former Staging Ground, various waves of nostalgia echoing through their collective psyche; a series of consecutive crises caused Lord Shaxx and his Redjacks to lose control of Staging Grounds just like this one. First Light. The Anomaly. Firebase Delphi. The Shores of Time. Nate recalled an action schedule from Arcite, the Crucible Handler; this site was scheduled for reclamation next month.   
  
Fukushu stopped at the basement of the Seeder building, turning to face his compatriots. “Here seems good,” he muttered to himself.   
  
“So, you…” The Warlock stepped forward. “...tracked down a Guardian, killed them, took their Ghost, put it in a special container that it can’t use its Light to get out of. Did I get all that right?”   
  
The Exo sighed, used to the condescension such actions fostered in more morally obligated Guardians. “Yes, Erynn, I did.”   
  
“Uh-huh.” Erynn’s expression flattened at the confirmation, and she responded to it by placing her hand on the handle of her sword. “And is there a reason we shouldn’t report you to the Vanguard for that kinda behavior?”   
  
“Now, Erynn,” Fukushu crooned, “first off, if you--if any of you--really gave a shit what the Vanguard thought, you wouldn’t be the stone cold badasses you are today. And second off…” He untied the black knot holding the sack closed, reaching inside and pulling out the vanilla-and-pink metallic frame of a Ghost from its depths. “...yes. There is a reason. A good one.”   
  
“Is that--” The female Titan stepped forward. “--is that Pulled Pork?” 

The mention of the Ghost’s name sent a murmur through the group. One way or another, they’d all crossed paths with Pulled Pork in the past; scanning the centuries-old ruins of Twilight Gap; searching the deepest depths of the Ishtar Archive; delving as deep into the Hellmouth as his Ghost-Light could take him without a Guardian of his own; searching the depths of Titan’s Solarium; Nate swore he’d seen him at the Lighthouse once.  
  
“You kidnapped Pulled Pork?” he asked.  
  
“No,” Victor posited, “he kidnapped Pulled Pork’s Guardian.”  
  
As quickly as the murmur swelled, it was silenced. Fukushu-8 stifled the urge to sigh in exasperation; the unifying thought that permeated the conversation was palpable enough that he may as well have had it blasted into his own comms array. _Pulled Pork has a Guardian._   
  
Fukushu nodded to the female Titan. “I’m gonna let him go. He tries to run, you wing him.”  
  
“Are you freaking crazy, Fu?!” Nate exclaimed. “None of us are trying to go down for--”  
  
“ _Wing,_ not kill.” He turned to Nate. “The moment he rezzes, I need you and Vic to grab him and hold him down.”  
  
“‘Him’,” Victor repeated. “You got any plans to tell us who we’ve got here?”  
  
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you--”   
  
The Exo’s musings were interrupted by his female counterpart removing her blade from its place on her back, brandishing it before him. “Try us,” Erynn challenged.  
  
Fukushu-8 and Erynn Vox locked eyes for a moment. He didn’t need more than a second to know that she had every intent to kill him if she found his answer lacking; on the same token, she needed just as little time to come to the conclusion that the Exo was so utterly convinced of his notions that no punishment she leveled at him would be sufficient. The other three Guardians placed their hands on their weapons of choice; Nate’s hand fell to the hand cannon at his hip; Victor slowly began unholstering his rifle; the female Titan drew her sidearm, apprehensively leveling it to the hand that restrained Pulled Pork. Fu didn’t need to look at them; his Exo utilities let him hear their elevated heartbeats, their twitching fingers, the sweat beading and rolling down their faces that portrayed to him more than any word could that his typical brand of casual condescension would get him no further.  
  
He formed a wide, almost manic smile as he stared down the edge of the sword at Erynn. “Uldren. Sov.”  
  
A collective gasp swept through the basement of the Seeder building.  
  
Fukushu-8 could barely contain himself from laughing.

\--------------------------------------

The moment Varys emerged from the black, he found himself being held down by two unknown assailants. The bare image of pillars, support beams overlooking a lake in front of a series of warehouses, was the only thing he saw before his eyes were concealed with a blindfold. He tried to focus his hearing to determine how many had brought him here.  _ Two holding him. Three, four, five pairs of boots-- _

_ Six. _ Varys heard a ship land, a sixth pair of boots coming from it. These were decidedly female; they had a lightness and gait not exhibited by the five already surrounding him.   
  
“What is this, a Baron-killers Anonymous meeting?” the woman asked.   
  
“Something like that,” Erynn muttered, naught but a light wave with her free hand used to greet the Hunter.   
  
“Amelie, huh?” Nate grunted, his head turning from his captive to face her. “Frankly, this ain’t the way I expected our first meeting to go.”   
  
“It isn’t, MacArthur,” she replied flatly.   
  
“It-it ain’t?”   
  
“Maybe the shame got to you. I met you last year after a buddy of mine put a shotgun blast through your trip to the Lighthouse.”   
  
Nate’s eyes widened in a brief moment of half-dreadful recollection, before his face grew a tad sullen. “Apologies, ma’am.”   
  
“By the Traveler, I hate that word,” the female Titan said under her breath.   
  
“Took you long enough, Amelie,” the Exo said, greeting her with a handshake. Varys was able to vaguely determine their positions by their voices. If he could only reach for his gun--   
  
“Haven’t seen you since Quitter’s Well, Fu,” the Huntress said, a scant warmth in her tone that was vacant from her conversations with the rest of the group. “So what’s this about?”   
  
“Same shit, different day,” he replied. “A King today, a Baron tomorrow, a dragon next week.” His smile hadn’t faded one bit from his face from the moment he uttered the name. “Good, old-fashioned revenge.”   
  
Fukushu-8 circled around behind the captive Guardian, ripping his hood from his head and pulling his head up by his jet-black hair.   
  
Amelie’s eyes didn’t have time to dilate; her face time to change expression; before she had registered the thought, her hand reached backwards, removing her submachine gun from its holster and unloading it into the Guardian’s face. The five had an array of reactions, from Erynn’s horror to Nate and Victor’s surprise to Fu’s abject joy at watching her exact her vengeance.   
  
“Well, that was quick,” Fu uttered. Her face turned to him, a swirl of emotions behind a stone-cold expression.   
  
“He’s alive,” she uttered.   
  
“‘F you wanna call it that,” Nate replied.   
  
“He’s a--” Amelie choked to form the words. “He’s a f--...he’s a--he’s a  _ fucking Guard-- _ ”   
  
“No, he isn’t,” Fu interjected, placing his hand over his prisoner and onto the Huntress’ shoulder.   
  
“Get your fucking hands off me.”   
  
“He’s not a Guardian, Am. He’s a murderer.”   
  
“I said let go of me, Fu--”    
  
He released her on the second warning, not needing to take note of the Void coalescing in the Huntress’ open palm. He released Pulled Pork from his grip once again. “Go ahead. Revive him.”   
  
Pulled Pork proceeded to issue forth a burst of Light upon the mutilated corpse of his Guardian, restoring it and allowing Varys to burst from the ground, only to have Victor force him to the ground on his chest. A single fluid motion found the Titan’s knee square between his shoulder blades, his arms held down in place by the curve where calf met foot.    
  
“I can’t be a part of this,” the female Titan said, stowing her sidearm. “I’m leaving.”    
  
“You sure about that, Violet?” Fukushu asked.   
  
She gasped at the name. Her last safety. “Damn you, Fukushu.”   
  
“You still wanna go?”   
  
“You do whatever you want. I don’t want any more part of this.”   
  
“Ain’t gonna go blabbin’ to Zavala, are ya, Vi?” Nate asked, his hand lowering to his hip once again.   
  
“If I listened to  _ everything _ Zavala said, you’d have had one more Baron to deal with.” She looked at the six Guardians across the basement. “My lips are sealed. Just don’t involve me in this shit again.”   
  
The Exo Warlock looked to his compatriots; each gave him a slow nod. “Fine. Best of luck to you, Violet.”   
  
Amelie took a knee before the captive Guardian, removing a knife from her belt. His head rose slowly from the cement floor as his eyes deigned to meet hers.    
  
“Am…” Varys coughed, dust and dirt filling his lungs in place of good and proper breath. “...Amelie...right?”   
  
“Yes,” she whispered.   
  
“Why are you…” He struggled with his shoulders to lift his face from the floor. “...why are you people doing this?”   
  
“Like my friend here said,” she replied, bringing her blade slowly up to her fellow Awoken’s throat. “Good, old-fashioned revenge.”

  
She slammed her eyes shut as the blood spurted from her captive onto her face, staining her hair, her armor, her knife, her gun. She looked down at the blood as it continued to splash onto her hands, and where basic instinct would be to clean herself up, some lower impulse took hold; she dropped the knife, bringing both hands to her face and coating herself in her second act of vengeance.   
  
She stood up, in complete disregard of her compatriots, and turned to Fukushu-8.    
  
“Again.”

\----------------------------------------------------------

~Ten Weeks Ago~

“Nate MacArthur!” Jarvan exclaimed, not bothering to turn around. “Last I saw you, I blew out your kneecaps and curb-stomped your tenth trip to the Lighthouse.   
  
Nate stood in the doorway of a spare room behind the Tower Hangar, where he had unceremoniously walked in on Jarvan getting dressed. Amelie had instructed MacArthur as to a few places he could find the Awoken should he ever seek him out, but he had no knowledge of exactly  _ what _ the places she’d given him were. The Titan stood with his back to the door, in front of what seemed to be a large mirror, examining something; a light shirt was draped over the chair behind him, a large bomber jacket to accent his figure hanging off the side of the mirror. On the wall to their left, what looked like pre-Golden Age cockpits hung from the wall, repurposed into display cases; one empty, one holding his silver and blue Crucible armor, and one holding what looked like an old flightsuit of some kind, bearing a white-and gold insignia he recognized from the Awoken Queensguard.   
  
“You-you don’t gotta put it like that, Jarvan,” Nate replied, attempting to avert his eyes.   
  
“What’cha need, Nate? Today’s my day off.”   
  
A few potential answers bubbled at Nate’s tongue, but he settled on the original. “Got somethin’ I wanna show ya.”   
  
“Really, now?” Jarvan turned around, grabbing the shirt from his chair and bringing it over him, when Nate noticed.   
  
“Whoa, whoa--hang on a sec, Jarvan,” he said.   
  
“Hm?” Jarvan stopped rolling the shirt down partway. “What?” he scoffed. “Like what’cha see?”   
  
“Not that.” Nate stepped forward, lifting the shirt up slightly to Jarvan’s left collarbone, to the only blemish that marred his visage--a large, purple scar with bolts radiating outward across his shoulder and chest. In its center, the tiniest piece of clean, unharmed skin stood; the tell-tale sign of a grievous gunshot wound.   
  
“Ah,  _ that _ ,” Jarvan said.   
  
“That from  _ him? _ ” the Hunter asked him. “The Rifleman?”   
  
“Yup.” Jarvan turned around, lifting the shirt a tad further, revealing a second scar a few inches up on the other side of his torso. “Clean through-and-through. Best I could do to avoid a kill.”   
  
“Amelie told me you helped ‘er. Didn’t tell me you were there.”   
  
“Somebody had to keep that plasma rifle on somethin’ that wasn’t her or ‘er Ghost.” Jarvan rolled the shirt down, draping the jacket over his forearm. “So you an’ Amelie  _ did _ hit it off?”   
  
“Not really. But we talk.”   
  
“So what’cha fixin’ to show me? New racetrack?”

Nate formed a soft smirk. “Close.”

\--------------------------------

  
“Rusted Lands ain’t aged a day since the Red War,” Jarvan muttered to himself with a wide smile.   
  
His and Nate’s ship came out of pulse jump over the Rusted Lands once again. A thunderstorm roiled through the peninsula, turning the lakebed path they would typically take into the Staging Ground into a narrow series of steppes leading to their destination. Jarvan’s eyes were quickly drawn to a third ship, already docked when they landed.   
  
“‘M I meetin’ somebody?” he asked his companion.   
  
“Two people, actually,” Nate replied.

The water had reached just above the floor of the Seeder building’s basement when Jarvan and Nate got there, pooling in spots throughout as they took their shelter. In the shadows, the Sentinel could make out a third figure sitting on the stairs leading up to the main floor.   
  
“Who’s the stiff?” the figure asked.   
  
“Just a friend, Vic.” Nate replied.   
  
Victor Maxwell stood from his post, stepping forward to meet the duo. “Good. Love when you bring your friends around.”   
  
Jarvan cocked an eyebrow. “Any girls involved, or is it just us?”   
  
“Not today, big guy,” Victor replied. He pulled a knife from his chestpiece, digging out one of the many cinderblocks that made up the basement wall until it loosened with a light  _ thud. _ He pulled it from its place slowly, revealing its hollow nature before pulling from it what appeared to be a black burlap sack.   
  
“Whaddawe got here?” Jarvan asked.   
  
“Person number three,” Nate replied. “And our reward.”   
  
“Reward?” Jarvan’s gaze turned to his companion, his prospect. “For what?”   
  
“Betrayin’ Zavala,” Vic uttered, opening the bag. “Spendin’ weeks in some Traveler-forsaken shithole--” He stuck his hand in, pulling what appeared to be a trinket from it. “--fightin’ zombie Fallen and lost Taken and the last Captains of a House that don’t fuckin’ exist anymore.” He let go of it, and it ceased its fall an inch from the ground, levitating weakly with the faint whirr of Ghost-Light.   
  
“Whoa,” Jarvan said. “What the hell is this?  _ Who _ the hell is this?”

Victor ignored him, looking down with an empty condescension at the low-floating Ghost. “Go ahead.”   
  
The Ghost emitted a faint noise like creaking metal, one that Jarvan could’ve almost mistaken for a whimper, when it loosed from its eye a small burst of light, reconstituting his Guardian.   
  
“Jarvan,” Nate said with a smirk, “meet Prince Uldren Sov.”   
  
Jarvan looked back to Nate, with an expression that rarely crossed his face--shock. He’d heard tales of the Forsaken Prince; the regent-brother to the Awoken Queen, Mara Sov; the Master of the Crows, the Awoken’s reclusive covert division; one of the few not salvaged from the Battle of Saturn, where the majority of the Awoken’s military might fell in a single stroke to the Taken King and his Dreadnaught; and most heinous of all, the creator of the Scorn, orchestrator of the breakout at the Prison of Elders--and the murderer of Cayde-6, the Hunter Vanguard.   
  
“Uldren Sov,” Jarvan repeated, in the most hushed of tones as though he knew not who could be listening.   
  
“Uldren Sov,” Nate said with a nod and a cheeky grin.   
  
Jarvan stepped forward, grabbing the Guardian by his vest harness and lifting him up against the wall. “Uldren freakin’ Sov.” He chuckled, giving the man a long once-over. “Of all the sons of bitches to get their sorry asses resurrected…”   
  
Then he looked up, and saw his face.   
  
Jarvan dropped him to the ground immediately, and his two compatriots rushed forward to step between him and the captive Guardian.   
  
“Jarvan,” Nate said softly, “you good?”   
  
For the smallest fraction of a second, Jarvan was in another place. He recognized it vividly as the bridge of Rheasilvia--but before its construction. There, he could see from the apex of a massive cliff face the Queen of the Awoken, moving her hands in seemingly random yet deft patterns, and could watch as beautiful stairways and sprawling pavilions forged themselves seemingly from her thoughts alone.    
  
A hand touched his left shoulder--where he should’ve felt the soft whine of his wound against his bone, but he didn’t--and he looked to his left.   
  
That face.   
  
“Jarvan!” Victor’s voice shocked him back into the Seeder building’s basement, with the faint ache of his shoulder returning as Jarvan regarded his fellow Titan's hand reaching it.   
  
“I’m good, I’m good,” Jarvan asserted, waving Victor off of him. “Just...holy shit.”   
  
Nate placated him. “Threw me for a loop too, first time around.” Jarvan turned back around to face the captive, who looked up at him from his knelt position on the building’s floor. He dared not look even in the direction of MacArthur or Maxwell, but their eyes locked immediately.   
  
“How long have y’all had him like this?” Jarvan asked, his voice still hushed.   
  
“Lil’ over three months,” Victor replied. “Fukushu-8 found him traipsin’ around the Mothyards a while back--y’know, Mad Bomber Fukushu--killed him, took his Ghost and stuffed it in this special bag so he couldn’t run away.”   
  
Jarvan was silent. His eyes remained fixed on this man. This man he never met, this man he should hate, this man who shattered the Vanguard in a single night and broke his best friend’s heart and whom he shouldn’t even be calling a  _ man _ \--and yet, he  _ knew  _ him.   
  
He let out a long, low sigh, turning around. “Ho-lee shit, guys.”   
  
“It’s a trip, right?” Nate asked.   
  
“Yeah,” the Titan panted. ”Shame, man.”

“Shame? Why?”   
  
Jarvan turned to his prospect with a pained expression. “‘Cause I  _ really _ wish y’all brought me here for the other thing.”   
  
In a single motion, his right hand drew the Chaperone from his hip, unloading a slug into MacArthur’s face without a second thought. Victor’s eyes went wide as he drew his rifle, but Jarvan more than had the drop on him; a quick pivot on his left foot found his Shield manifesting and barreling into Maxwell’s chest all in the same movement. His fellow Titan fell to his knees, his rifle falling to the ground between them, and Jarvan allowed him a split second to reach out and grab it before stepping onto his hand with a single thick boot. The multitude of  _ crack _ s of shattering fingers was only drowned out by Victor’s single scream of pain for a moment before Jarvan unloaded his second shot.   
  
Varys watched as the Sentinel dispatched his two captors in seconds. In between their myriad bouts of torturing him, he heard tales of their exploits; of armies of undead creatures called Scorn that fell before their blades and bombs and Light. Without his weapons, and without any knowledge of the Light, he thought them unkillable. Jarvan stepped forward slowly, stowing the gun, and the young Guardian fought every instinct that told him to get away. No matter how many times he asserted in his head,  _ ‘Finally, the one Guardian in the whole universe that doesn’t wanna kill me’, _ everything told him to run.   
  
Jarvan took a knee before his fellow Awoken, reaching out a hand. “My…” He felt himself choking up slightly for a reason he couldn’t fathom. “...my name’s Jarvan.”   
  
Varys looked up slowly at the Titan, and they locked eyes once again. Just in his periphery, he could see Pulled Pork floating gently towards him.    
  
“C-...crow.”   
  
“‘Crow’?” Jarvan repeated.   
  
“My crow…” He sat up, looking around. “Crow!”   
  
Jarvan’s hands reached Varys’ shoulders. “Ion’ know what’cher talkin’ about, man,” he sighed. “Now come on, we gotta get up--”   
  
_ Caw!! _   
  
At that moment, as though in response to his master’s pleas, the Crow swooped down from the upper floor. The two Guardians looked at the silvered automaton as it flapped its wings gently before perching itself on Jarvan’s wrist.    
  
Varys looked at it with an air of confusion. “Crow, are you okay?”

[You’ve found Jarvan, Crow-Mast- _ \- -kzzkt- _ ]   
  
Jarvan’s eyes widened as his gaze turned from Varys to the Crow. “You know me?”   
  
[Yes, Jarvan Tal. Former Queensguard. Presumed dead after the Battle of Saturn.]   
  
Varys looked to the Crow, then back to Jarvan, before taking his hand, allowing the Titan to help him to his feet.   
  
“Let’s get you outta here…” Jarvan struggled. “What’s your name, now? Do you have one?”   
  
“Varys,” he said, a small smile growing. “I’m Varys.”   
  
  
  



	12. Ultimatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelie's therapy sessions have been suspended. And she is not happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion to our quest for clarity. As always, your feedback is appreciated!

~Six Weeks Ago~   
  
[Staging Ground is compromised.]   
  
Amelie woke for the twenty-ninth day to that message in the Revenger comms channel--the corny, yet apt name Victor and Fukushu had come up with for their little group.  _ Granted, it had a ring to it that Big Game Hunters didn’t. _ The channel had been dead for four weeks. No text. No direct comms. No media transfers. Nothing. The last conversation they’d had was about Nate’s prospect of inviting a friend. Which wasn’t out of the ordinary--the three months during which the five indulged themselves saw them each bring their fair share of like-minded compatriots to indulge in their own forms of closure, save for Amelie--but whoever he brought with him said something. Or did something.   
  
And Amelie was at her wit’s end. She had grown accustomed to her twice-weekly visits to the Rusted Lands to blow off steam, and with that outlet she’d found that knot in her chest unraveling ever so slightly. She would hazard to caution her compatriots under any other circumstances, but this wasn’t that.

[GREETINGS, GUARDIAN. HOW MAY I--]

“I need data on a ship manifest,” Amelie ordered.   
  
[WHAT SHIP, GUARDIAN--]   
  
“Belongs to Nathaniel MacArthur. Ship name on file should be ‘Timeless Tereshkova’.”

The frame parsed over a few hundred gigabytes of data in the time it took her to finish the sentence. [SHIP {TIMELESS TERESHKOVA} HAS NOT BEEN LOGGED BY GUARDIAN: MACARTHUR, NATHANIEL.]   
  
“In how long?”   
  
[LAST LOGGED DEPARTURE: FOUR WEEKS AGO.]

“Has he come back?”   
  
[CURRENT SHIP ON FILE FOR GUARDIAN: MACARTHUR, NATHANIEL IS {FATAL VISION}.]   
  
Amelie put her hand to her lips. No way in a million years would Nate part with his most prized ship; the first thing he bragged about the first time they met was how proud he was of winning it in an SRL tournament. Somebody stole it.   
  
An idea flashed through her psyche. “Show me any ships that departed with the same timestamp. Five-minute margin for error.”   
  
[ONE SHIP ON FILE UNDER THE GIVEN PARAMETERS. ON FILE BELONGING TO GUARDIAN: TAL, JARVAN.]

The name drew her eyes directly across the Hangar to a service hallway. “God dammit, Nate.” She left the frame to its devices, making her way up into the scaffolding to cross the threshold. “Couldn’t have just been the other thing.”    
  
The door to his chamber was locked, but it was nothing a knife couldn’t fix. She looked down both ends of the hallway to check for watchers, before subtly manifesting a blade in her left hand, its Light searing through the lock in less than a second. The door swung open, allowing Amelie ingress unto his private chambers, and she took a moment to look around. The place seemed undisturbed in most places, even collecting dust--until she turned to the display cases.   
  
His flightsuit--the clothes he was wearing when he revived--was missing.

\------------------------------

Halfway around the world, Jarvan and Varys stood in the tunnel outside of the Seeder building. Jarvan was wearing his Queensguard flightsuit, partially for his own nostalgia and partially to see if it inspired any similar notions in his training partner.

“Okay, Varys,” the Titan said, pulling a knife from his belt. “Disarm me.”   
  
“I don’t have any weapons,” Varys protested, an innocent look on his face.   
  
“Bullshit,” Jarvan laughed. “I know you practice when I’m not here.”

Varys formed a small, wry smile, snapping his fingers and manifesting a flame in his right hand. His eyes brightened a bit at the sight, before he closed his fist around the Light, manifesting it into a blade.   
  
“That’s the first time you’ve pulled that trick off without burning yourself!” Pulled Pork exclaimed.   
  
Varys sighed, chuckling to himself. “Thanks for letting him know that.”   
  
Jarvan lunged forward, only to be met by a wide bevy of flaming knives from the fledgling Hunter. He broke to a slide, swiping across at Varys’ ankles, only to see the Hunter vault over him, throwing another two. “Shit--” He manifested his Shield at the last moment, deflecting the knives.   
  
Varys laughed. “Thought you said no shields.”

“The game is disarm, not kill, V.”   
  
“I spent three months disarmed, J,” Varys said, his smile fading slightly. “I’m not disarming shit.”   
  
“Fair enough.” Jarvan threw the Shield, causing Varys to make several jumps and ducks as it bounced off of every surface in the tunnel before he reached his adversary. The Titan made a cross with his knife-hand, clashing with Varys’ blade in a lock. Varys grunted--even with his newfound use of the Light, he knew he couldn’t hold back a punch from Jarvan for long--and kicked out his front foot as he started to lose ground, causing his sparring partner to lurch forward past him and out of a position to dodge. He pivoted to face him, throwing another three Solar knives before the Sentinel could regain his footing.   
  
He only managed to form his Shield quick enough to deflect one knife, as the other two found purchase in his right arm and shoulder. They burned with a sting he wasn’t used to receiving in such intensity; in part because the flightsuit, while optimal for stealth and space travel, offered little tangible protection against Light-based attacks. He curled behind it in the face of another flurry.   
  
“You okay, Jarvan?” Varys yelled. “I don’t usually get you on the backfoot this early!”   
  
“You still don’t,” Jarvan replied. “Been waitin’ ya out.” Jarvan threw his Shield once again, vertically this time, and before Varys could manifest another blade it bounced from floor to ceiling to wall until it barreled right into his head. Jarvan had him pinned before he hit the ground.   
  
The two Guardians panted in tandem. “Shit,” Varys said, with a labored chuckle.   
  
“You’re gettin’ faster, V,” Jarvan breathed. “Gotta work on not burnin’ yourself out too early--”   
  
Both of their heads turned behind them, towards the lake, where they could hear the decelerating engines of a third ship. Someone was here.   
  
“Jarvan!” An all-too-familiar female voice yelled from the water tower.   
  
“Fuck,” they both whispered. Their eyes locked again; where Jarvan’s face was stoic, in preparation to lie to--or possibly fight--his best friend, Varys’ was struck with horror.   
  
“Jarvan, we gotta get outta here--”   
  
“In here, Am!” Jarvan yelled.   
  
“Jarvan, what the hell are you doing--?!”

“Takin’ a risk. Don’t move.”   
  
Amelie peeked into the tunnel, her SMG at the ready, to find Jarvan standing over her quarry, Shield poised at his head. “Didn’t know you knew about this place, J.”   
  
“Yeah, your buddy Nate invited me,” he replied, his gaze never averting from Varys.

“Y’know, Jarvan, there’s about a dozen people wondering what the hell happened to him,” Amelie posited. “And why  _ we _ \--” she pointed to herself, “--can’t give them what they need.”   
  
“Well, my apologies, Am.” Jarvan sighed. “Guess I got a tad overzealous--”   
  
“Cut the shit, Jarvan.” Amelie formed a single blade of Void Light in her right hand. “That’s Nate’s ship. His  _ favorite _ ship. So either you got him  _ really _ drunk and he lost it in a card game, or you killed him and stole it.”   
  
Jarvan stood up, putting his shield between the Huntress and her prey. “I dunno, Am. Nate likes his alcohol.”   
  
“Get out of my way, Jarvan.” 

The Sentinel nodded behind him. “Go. You know where.” Varys immediately broke into a sprint out of the other side of the tunnel, and Amelie’s eyes widened. “Can’t letcha get ‘im, Amelie.”   
  
Amelie scowled, and without another word dissolved the Void Blade into a ball of violet Light. “You couldn’t stop me if you wanted to.” She brought the Light just above her head, pulling it downwards as one would a cloak--and disappeared.    
  
“Crap,” Jarvan uttered, forming a stance to throw his Shield once again in hopes of it catching her on its way through the tunnel--only to have the invisible Huntress bring a foot into his solar plexus, dropping him to his knees as she pressed onward after the fledgling Gunslinger that was her target.   
  
“Oooooh, no, no, no, no…” Jarvan coughed and gagged at the evacuation of wind from his lungs, reaching behind him for his line rifle. “Not this time, Am.” He staggered out of the tunnel, priming the gun. “ _ Take cover!! _ ” The gun let off a wide, crimson beam of searing energy through the complex, one which the still-shrouded Amelie was able to dodge with ease--only to watch it bounce off the wall it impacted and outward through her only path out.   
  
Varys took the opportunity to dash outward from the complex, getting a good look at Jarvan’s gun--and at Amelie, forced to leave stealth to escape the path of the beam it created--before dashing desperately down the lane from Alpha to Bravo. Before Jarvan could take aim, Amelie dismounted from the roof of the complex, turning invisible before she hit the ground.   
  
“Dammit,” he growled, regaining his lungs as he dashed out of the complex, watching Varys get through the gate out, knowing Amelie couldn’t be far. Varys took the left exit, through a smaller, secondary tunnel, and Jarvan smirked. “Attaboy,” he said under his breath, counting in his head to two seconds before letting off another shot. He heard the familiar split-second yelp and moment of searing flesh that he recognized immediately as his gun finding its mark, and exhaled finally. He peeked out the center exit, just long enough to see Varys getting past the water tower and making his way to his ship, before entering the tunnel to find Amelie’s Ghost. It didn’t need a face to scowl at him, and he didn’t need her to have one to recognize it.   
  
“Sorry, mon Coeur,” Jarvan said, in what little Old Earth French he knew. Without a response, the Ghost shimmered brightly for a brief flash before returning Amelie to life. She immediately ran out of the tunnel, a look of horror on her face as she watched the Timeless Tereshkova begin to lift from the ground. She reached for her sniper rifle, only for Jarvan to grab her wrist as her arm made its way behind her.   
  
“No, Amelie.”   
  
“Jarvan, you get your fucking hand off me right now,” she hissed. He released her, and the Huntress immediately took aim at the ship preparing to depart.   
  
“Shaxx!”

She turned around to see Jarvan with his hand on his temple. “Shaxx, it’s Jarvan, you read?”   
  
“You’re bluffing,” she scoffed. “Fuck off.” She was about to turn back, when he continued--

“Arcite, you old dog, how’s it going!” he exclaimed. “Yeah, I’m at the Rusted Lands and I got some problems, if you could patch me to Shaxx--”   
  
“Shut up, Jarvan,” she said, turning to face him, “you’re not fooling any--”   
  
Jarvan put his hand over her mouth, drawing a scowl from what of her face was uncovered. His hand drew from his temple for a brief moment, just long enough to summon his Ghost and mouth, “ _ Scan her. _ ”

Amelie had Coeur scan the Titan’s Ghost, the information she found flooding her HUD; he wasn’t bluffing. He was currently on mission, doing preliminary scouting for reclamation by Lord Shaxx’ Redjacks.   
  
“Lord Shaxx, it’s Jarvan. How go the recruits?” Jarvan asked. She could immediately hear the booming diatribe that typified the Crucible Master. “Yeah, I got some issues over at the Rusted Lands. Buncha fightin’ assholes I need ta’ clear out--”   
  
Amelie moved his hand, placing hers on his shoulder and stowing her rifle.   
  
Jarvan smirked. “Never mind, boss-man. Looks like they got the message.” Amelie heard his comms cut out.   
  
“You ratted us out?”   
  
“No,” he replied. “Not once I found out you were involved.”   
  
“Then what the hell are you doing?”   
  
“Shutting this shit down,” Jarvan declared. “He’s going somewhere they won’t think to look.  _ You _ won’t think to look.”   
  
“You wanna fucking bet?”   
  
“Nope. I’d win. And I don’t take candy from babies.” Jarvan got a wide smile on his face.   
  
Amelie sighed. “How’d you find out?”   
  
“Nate invited me. Thought I’d be into your little torture party.”

“And you killed him and gave a fucking  _ murderer _ his ship.”   
  
“You know he’s not like that. All likelihood he doesn’t even remember it. And he never will.”   
  
“That doesn’t change anything--”   
  
“That changes  _ everything, _ Am!” The Titan yelled, throwing his arms up.    
  
“So what now?!” she yelled back.   
  
“Now…I’m gonna spend some time practicing. Hit some training dummies.” He leaned back against the wall. “Give it maybe a half hour, tell Shaxx we’re good, this time tomorrow the Redjacks come in, an' before ya know it the Rusted Lands are back on the Crucible docket.”   
  
Amelie gave an agonizing sigh at her friend's trademark joviality, even in such circumstances. “And Uldren?” She asked, a pained expression beginning to contort her face.

“Real easy. You go after him, I tell the Vanguard,” he stated, crossing his arms.

“Why are you doing this, Jarvan?”    
  
“Honestly, Am, I don’t know.” Jarvan closed his eyes. “All I know is this guy ain’t the same guy who did you wrong. He just ain’t. An’ y’all beatin’ and torturin’ and killin’ a fellow Guardian for somethin’ he didn’t do? That shit don’t fly with me.”

“He’s not a fucking Guardian, Jarvan.”   
  
“Pulled Pork would say otherwise.”   
  
Amelie looked at her friend with a tortured visage. She knew, deep down, that he was right--that no matter what Uldren said or did in his previous life, there was virtually no chance he remembered it, and that regardless of who he was, she and everyone involved could face exile for what they’ve been doing the past three months. Worse, should the Praxics get involved.

"I don't wanna tell 'em. But I will."

\----------------------------

~Two Weeks Ago~

"The hell do you mean, you put the Drivers on a Trials docket?"

Jarvan stood before Lord Shaxx, the Crucible Handler, panting for dear life after a hurried trek from the South Annex to his corner of the promenade. He didn't even spend time cleaning his armor; his usually-pristine Awoken armor stood caked in moon-dust and neutralized radiolaria, the last vestiges of a patrol across the Moon which culminated in him and Amelie having to fight a Vex Gate Lord. 

"I mean you're too late, Jarvan," Shaxx sighed in his usual gruff tone. "I can't hold a spot for you forever--"

"The Drivers  _ never _ do Trials!" the Sentinel exclaimed.

"Well, Liam must've gotten it in 'is head somehow, 'cause he and Paul were the first people here to ask for a spot."

"Call 'em. Lemme give that flamin' blowhard a piece 'a my mind."

"Call them?" Shaxx laughed. "They're right upstairs. And you know who's with them?"

"Oh, don't  _ fuckin' _ tell me--"

"Those Vex hit you on the head, Jarvan?" his fellow Titan asked with a chuckle. "Make you forget what week it is?"

Jarvan took a brief squat, catching his breath. Of course it was Iron Banner week. And  _ of course _ Liam would take the opportunity to take his Trials exhibition spot on the  _ one week _ he couldn't do anything about it.

Behind him, he heard the familiar light gait yet recognizable steps of Satou armor indicating the leisurely approach of his partner on the patrol. Amelie stopped a few feet behind him, flashing a brief salute to the Warlord before kneeling to meet her compatriot’s height.

"Forget something?" Amelie asked, pulling an oblong, ovaloid structure of metal and glass from her pack and presenting it to the Titan.

He grimaced at her--the light, almost playful tone that carried the question betrayed to him the fact that she clearly was not referring to the trinket--and snatched it from her hand. "You tipped 'em off, ain'tcha."

Amelie made an obviously facetious expression of surprise. "Tipped who off?" she asked sarcastically, "And about what?"

Much like his friend with her lack of access to her stress outlet, Jarvan had reached the end of his patience. She seemed entirely committed to antagonizing him endlessly in retaliation for his interruption of her newest activity. If that wasn't enough, it seemed she'd informed the rest of the Revengers, and they'd begun a collaborative effort to sabotage his own forms of de-stressing; between patrols for the Vanguard, acquisitions for the War Cult, and the occasional missions from the latter that involved doing tasks for the former our of convenience, he hadn't had a proper Crucible bout in two weeks.

"I'll get this to Lakshmi," the Sentinel sighed dismissively. “See ya ‘round, Am.”

Jarvan's return to the Tower Hangar had him making a pit stop at the Tower hub of the Future War Cult--a long, wide chamber acting as a makeshift overpass and support for the scaffolding above it while also serving as the base of operations for Lakshmi-2, the War Cult's Tower liaison.

"Welcome back, Jarvan," Lakshmi said. Her voice had a warmth he wasn't used to hearing; either she was starting to warm up to him, or she's been waiting for him to get back.

Jarvan banked on the latter. "Ma'am," he replied, handing over the Vex tech.

"You know, you're actually one of our more reliable recruits when you're not knocking heads, Jarvan."

"Believe me, ma'am," Jarvan joked, "heads were knocked. Many heads. Vex, Hive and otherwise."

"You know what I mean," she said, not nearly as amused by his feigned aloofness. "We could use you on this fact-finding opera--"   
  
“Yeah, I know, ma’am,” Jarvan interjected, with more than a tinge of exasperation at his current predicament. “Anythin’ to stop the comin’ war.”   
  
Lakshmi scoffed at her recruit. “Not to stop the war, Jarvan,” she said softly. “To  _ win _ the war. Even head-knockers like you have a place in the conflicts to come. And if it pleases you, I’d like you to continue taking missives.”   
  
“If they line up with what I’m already doin’, I’ll happily do ‘em.”   
  
“Good.” Lakshmi rose from her chair, pulling a box from the shelf behind her before presenting it to the Titan.    
  
“What’s this?”   
  
“For your contribution to the cause, Jarvan.”   
  
He opened the box to find a long, folded cloth adorned with a black and silver belt, which unfolded revealed a beautiful flowing mark. The insignia of the Future War Cult stood glossed and superimposed onto a beautiful geometric backdrop of yellow and scarlet over their signature bluish-purple.   
  
“I...I dunno what to say, ma’am.”   
  
“Don’t say anything, Jarvan,” Lakshmi said. “Take it, and go with the blessing of the cause.”   
  
Jarvan gave Lakshmi-2 a deep bow, before returning his mark to its box and taking his leave. Making his way down the stairwell, he summoned his Ghost, Vekna.   
  
“You wanna take a run through the Skywatch?” Vekna asked softly.   
  
“Nah,” he replied. “I wanna put my shield through Liam Driver’s abdomen.”   
  
“Fair enough.”   
  
“Do me a favor, patch me to Varys.”   
  
“You sure?” she asked. “We’re still in the Tower.”   
  
“It’s not like I’m callin’ ‘im by his old name.”   
  
“Your funeral,” she whispered. “Don’t come complaining to me when--” Vekna’s gaze turned to the hangar proper. “Jarvan, ten o’ clock.”   
  
Jarvan’s head turned to match his Ghost’s, gazing through the Hangar where halfway down, he caught a glimpse of Liam Driver’s ship, the Hebridean Thoughtcrime. He grimaced at the sight of it, a hulking thing from nose to engines, armed to the teeth and built to survive an orbital drop. He hated it--and, beneath his resentment for its owner, he coveted it. He immediately began parsing the catwalk between the tracks--the only reason his ship would be as close as it was to the takeoff area was if he was leaving soon--and quickly found both he and his Striker brother, occupied by conversation as the Shipwrights performed final checks on their ships’ integrity.   
  
“Nope,” Jarvan declared to himself, continuing his descent. “Not gonna do it. Not gonna do it! Not gonna do it…” As he hit the last stair, a loud triplet of hearty laughs coming from the catwalk; his head turned to find none other than Amelie, leaning on a handrail as she marveled at the laughter she enraptured her fellow Guardians with.   
  
“Oh, fuck that, I’m doin’ it.” 

Jarvan broke into a sprint as he made his way to the edge catwalk, Vekna disappearing behind his head as he did so. Amelie caught the sound of his approach long before the Wolves did, in their stupor; but soon enough, their laughter diminished to such an extent that they were inevitably drawn to the sound of the incensed Sentinel.

"Oh, Jarvan, hi!" Amelie chimed in her previous, playful yet condescending tone. "Your  _ buddies _ here and I were just talking about--"

"Is this some kinda fuckin' joke to you, Am?" Jarvan interjected. "Am  _ I _ some kinda joke to you?"

"I dunno about her, man," Liam posited, inserting himself into the conversation, "but you've always been a joke to me."

"Liam Driver, I will turn you into a fuckin' firework if I hear one more insult outta your goddamn--"

"Is that a threat?" Paul interjected.

"Is it a challenge?" his brother added, an excited grin striking out across his face.   
  
Jarvan and Liam locked eyes in a moment of palpable tension. Around them, Paul stood statuesque a few feet behind the Sunbreaker, while Amelie was enjoying an entertainment she hadn’t felt since the first time she killed Uldren.   
  
“You tryin’ to two-v-one some Iron Lords, ‘J’?” Liam whispered   
  
Jarvan grunted, grabbing the younger Driver by his chestplate, and Liam replied in kind with an identical grip. Jarvan’s face strained to remain as even as possible in spite of his overwhelming urge to throw Liam over the catwalk and off of the Tower. Every muscle in his body tensed in his frustration as he acknowledged in his head the echoing words of his Mentor: the Tower is a place of  _ peace _ .   
  
He shoved his adversary back a few feet. “Two-v-two. Two weeks. Trials format.”   
  
Liam’s ear-to-ear grin somehow widened further. “First to three?”

“First to three,” Jarvan agreed.   
  
Paul sighed, stepping forward slowly to stand between the adversaries. “You sure you wanna do this, Jarvan?”   
  
“Paul,” the Sentinel sighed, “you’ve been okay. You’ve treated me with respect, an’ I respect that. But I’m gonna fuckin’ vaporize your brother ‘ere.”   
  
Paul chuckled. “He’ll probably deserve it.”   
  
“Where we goin’, Jar-Jar?” Liam asked over his older brother’s shoulder.

Jarvan knew where he wanted to go. He turned back to his closest friend, and as they exchanged looks Amelie knew where he wanted to go too. The slightest, most innocuous nod of approval garnered a mirrored nod from him.   
  
“Rusted Lands,” Jarvan declared.   
  
“Rusted Lands haven't been open in years!” Liam exclaimed, only to have Jarvan push past Paul and shove his tablet into the Sunbreaker’s chest. He swiped it from the Sentinel’s hand, reading through what he immediately recognized as a post-Guardian evaluation of the Staging Ground. The Rusted Lands were slated for a return to the Crucible docket--in  _ two weeks. _   
  


Liam returned the tablet to Jarvan’s chest in a similar gesture. “M’kay,” he said with his trademark grin. “Rusted Lands it is.” He tapped Paul’s shoulder, nodding over to their ships, and Paul gave Jarvan a gentle fist bump before departing after his younger brother.

Jarvan gave a low, nigh-inaudible sigh as he watched the brothers enter their respective craft and take flight from the Tower, no doubt for Felwinter Peak. A more-than-nagging feeling sent a twitch through his right arm, a low impulse to manifest a Shield and send it careening into one of the younger Driver’s engines, sending Liam spiraling downward to a most spectacular demise just outside the City walls. One thought permeated his mind, accidentally escaping his lips--

“What the blood-soaked, Hive-infested hell have I done.”

Turning around brought him back face-to-face with Amelie. There was something bittersweet about her casual stance as she leant against the guardrail, the slightest smirk arcing off her lips; he hadn’t seen her enjoy herself this much since before the Baron Hunts. His only wish was that it was under different circumstances--and not at his expense.

“What’s that about?” he asked her.   
  
“Don’t remember the last time you made a bet like that.”

“That?” he replied, pointing his thumb behind him. “Wasn’ a bet. I’mma take my Shield and bludgeon that smug sonuva bitch.”   
  
“Mm-hmm.” Amelie pursed her lips slightly, hand on her chin.   
  
He knew that look. “Why, you wanna make a bet alluva sudden?”

Amelie smiled. She’d been waiting for him to say that.   
  
“Let’s call it a Dare.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going back and looking at all this classic fare from D1 fills me with nostalgia and makes me so happy. I can't wait for Beyond Light.
> 
> Next week, we return to the present day, and a confrontation to remember.


	13. Lightshow II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I promised y'all some fireworks.

Four Guardians stood in the massive cryostasis suite of an age-old Exodus-class colony ship. 

The Guardian, knife in his left hand, gun in his right.

Amelie, his Hunter mentor, in the rafters, a watchful eye through a sniper’s scope aimed at her best friend--

Jarvan Tal, Sentinel, Crucible aficionado--a shotgun pointed at the Guardian’s head. A gesture in kind to the Guardian’s own, as he regarded the young Guardian’s hand cannon aimed squarely at his ward--

Varys. The Guardian formerly known as the Forsaken Prince Uldren Sov. The only Guardian lacking a firearm, a half-dozen blades of blazing Solar Light danced between his fingers, ready to be launched at a moment’s notice at any who deigned to do him harm.

His eyes were not upon his friend. Nor his new acquaintance with the ornate, Dark Age hand cannon pointed at his face.   
  
They were up, in the rafters, on his other companion: the Crow.    
  
Just out of Amelie’s periphery, the Crow stood perched upon a broken railing, fulfilling its purpose as a watchful observer. Awoken magics and technologies alike flowed through the bird, empowering it to remain ever-present and unseen. Currently, a series of rusted browns, oranges and yellows painted themselves over its scant frame, giving it the illusion of being part of the building--a quirk made of warped and broken metals. Its eyes focused twofold; one on his Crow-Master, in bated lockstep with his friend and his newest acquaintance; one on the strange, unknown Awoken next to it, and what actions she would take.   
  
“Amelie, don’t you dare!” Jarvan yelled, his left raised to the rafters. He could feel the warmth of her scope on his temple as he held the trusty Chaperone a fair few inches from the Guardian’s head.   
  
“You gonna stop me, all the way down there?” she whispered into her comms array.   
  
“Amelie,” the Guardian interjected, “I think you have this wrong.”    
  
“He’s a murderer,” she hissed.   
  
“He’s  _ scared _ ,” he replied. “Take your scope offa your best friend for a second and look at him. He’s terrified.” He glanced softly to his right. “Same as Jarvan.” He looked down at his chest, contemplating the series of servos and valves and machinery that occupied the space a heart would. “Same as me.”   
  
Amelie turned her scope to Varys, and Jarvan watched the red depiction of her gaze move slowly to his friend. Somewhere beneath the scales and thorns and teeth that coalesced to form her outward cynicism, her stone, her vitriol, she knew he was right; despite being poised for a fight, every aspect of his face was of a man who took no pleasure in his actions--who feared for his own life, and that of his only friend.   
  
Her stone won out. The Crow watched her finger find the trigger of her rifle.   
  
“ _ CAW! _ ”   
  


Jarvan’s eyes widened. “Amelie, NO--”   
  
_ BANG. _   
  
The Guardian’s eyes focused. Electricity arced through every corner of his body, his mind making calculations and analyses and probability assessments faster than he could even perceive. A flapping wind. A bird’s caw, with a mechanical tinge in its voice. A sharp scratching of claws raking against flesh.  _ Twenty meters behind. Ten meters above. _ A knife, cutting through air with lethal intent.  _ Five meters front. _ A hand, renewing its grip on the handle of a gun, and a finger finding a trigger.

_ One meter right. _

A single fluid motion found the Guardian swinging with his gun arm, curling underneath Jarvan’s and causing the bayonet of his hand cannon to find purchase between plates of the Titan’s armor. The resulting cut bled quite heavily, but the Guardian’s attention was drawn elsewhere before he could even remark upon the fruit of his attack; before Jarvan could utter an expression of pain, his grip on the shotgun immediately subsided, the firearm falling to the ground. His first instinct was to kick it away, but he only got so far as putting his foot on the gun before he saw the Titan’s right fist careening towards his face.   
  
The pommel of the Guardian’s knife found the inside of Jarvan’s elbow as his fist came within an inch of his face. A brief squat gave the fledgling Hunter the strength to jump high, enough to spin in midair and hit the Sentinel with a flying roundhouse kick that sent him barreling backwards. The loud  _ clang _ of his feet hitting the floor left him silently contemplating the sounds that accompanied his movements. A faint hum and crackling accompanied every movement he made, and he took this moment to look down at his body.   
  
He was alight.   
  
Dazzling blue bolts of electricity cascaded off of his every muscle. His brain felt like it was processing orders of magnitude faster than he’d ever felt it. The heavy iron in his right hand felt like it could shatter in his hands under enough force, a notion that caused him to quickly holster it. Finally, he looked to his left hand, to the stolen knife he brandished as a spoil of battle, to find this Light coursing through it as well; a moment’s focus found Arc Light channeling through the blade, causing it to extend and sharpen into a white-hot edge.

_ Multiple heat sources. Five meters. _

The Guardian didn’t even need to look up for his infrared sensors to help him pinpoint an approximate location for the bevy of throwing knives his Awoken counterpart loosed from his hands in a panic. He ducked to avoid the first, a deft swipe with his newfound Arc Blade used to deflect two more before the continuing barrage forced his retreat backwards.

_Void energy output. Seven meters._   
  
He felt the heel of his back foot find the wall behind him, as his vision focused in two directions; to his left, another bevy of throwing knives from Varys; to his right, another Void Shield careened towards him from Jarvan’s arm. He stowed the knife once again, tucking and rolling behind the Void Shield, where he heard the knives impact against it as it whizzed past him. Using the crouched position to build momentum, he catapulted himself upward along the back wall, using his Light to double-jump and avoid the fourth volley--until his hand caught a ledge.  
  
Amelie looked down at her ward. Her gaze and tone were equal in the ice they portrayed. “Hell are you doing up here.”  
  
“Takin’ a break, I guess,” the Guardian replied. “You gonna tell me just _whose_ head you’re tryin’ to put a bullet in?”  
  
Amelie growled, lifting her foot in preparation to step on the hand of her student, but he saw it; instead, he tucked his feet in along the wall, letting go of the ledge and using his legs to vault off the side of the structure--directly at Jarvan. The air whipped hot at his face, sparks flying off of him as he flew through the air and concentrated his Light in his right fist. _An invigorating feeling_ , he thought, _were he not in conflict with his friend, his teacher, and a stranger._ Jarvan immediately manifested another Shield, lifting it to block the Guardian’s attack; the impact rang like a resounding gong through the complex, a shockwave knocking Varys off his feet and even pushing the scope of Amelie’s rifle backwards, striking her slightly in the eye.  
  
“Ah!” Amelie winced, dropping the gun as her hand found her eye. Another growl escaped her teeth as her best friend warded off the Guardian’s attack, a wall standing between him--between _her_ \-- and what _she_ wanted.  
  
“Fuck this.”  
  
Jarvan strained with both arms to keep his shield up against the Guardian’s attack; while the punch itself was inconsequential in force compared to one of his own, the storm of Arc Light that enveloped his body acted simultaneously as buffer, enhancer, and propelling force--such force being sufficient to force him into his current position. Behind him, Varys stood a few meters back, Solar knives at the ready, waiting for a shot.  
  
Until he looked up.

  
“Jarvan!” Varys yelled.   
  
“Not...now, V!” He growled through gritted teeth.   
  
“Jarvan, above!”   
  
The Guardian was about to turn his head behind him to get a closer look, when his sensory array blared.   
  
_ Void Energy output. Fifteen meters. _   
  
Jarvan and Varys’ gazes collectively spanned upwards to the rafters, where a single violet light silhouetted the visage of the former’s best friend, the latter’s worst enemy. There, Amelie’s prized sniper rifle lay at her feet as she coalesced her Void Light into the shape of a beautiful curved bow. She drew a sharp breath through her teeth as her fingers found string, breathing slowly with her stomach as she drew it back and an arrow began to form between her two fingers--and fired. The Arrow whizzed through the air at a breakneck speed, such that Varys was barely able to evade it by jumping straight upwards as it impacted the ground.   
  
Before any of them could react, the Light of the Void Arrow reformed into a ball of energy, which appeared for a split second before three massive beams erupted from it, surrounding the three. In another instant, their respective Light began to fade; the storm surrounding the Guardian began to crackle and ebb; the Shield and armor aura Jarvan was emitting rapidly began to corrode; the flames that danced between Varys’ fingers were snuffed out in a chill wind; and the three Guardians immediately found themselves lowering to the ground.   
  
“F-...fuck…” Jarvan growled, lowering onto one knee. His gaze turned to Varys, whose upward ascent turned into an immediate slam into the ground.   
  
“Jarvan, what the hell is…” The Guardian struggled to even utter the words in the utter gravity the Void Light exerted upon him.   
  
“V-void...Void T-tether.”    
  
Jarvan groaned as his knee began to take too much weight, forcing him forward onto his stomach. The Anchor formed by the Void Arrow hummed gently, a low vibration that thrummed through the bodies of the trio as they tried feebly to move. Suddenly, the fourth of them landed to the ground with a light, agile gait; Amelie began a slow, subtle stride across the floor, taking care to avoid her student and her friend. Jarvan began to slowly inch across the ground, reaching out as Amelie came to a stop, Void Bow in one hand, knife in the other.   
  
Varys mustered just enough strength to roll onto his back. “Am...Amelie, right?”   
  
The Huntress’ eyes widened ever so slightly, the nonchalance with which he uttered the words a far cry from the fear her visage evoked from him a mere few weeks prior. “Yes, Uldren, that’s right.”   
  
“What…” Varys inched back, using what little strength he could to pull himself into a seated position against a radiator. “...what number is this now? Sixty-seven?”   
  
Amelie’s lips pursed at the number, almost forming a smile. “You remembered.”   
  
“H-how could I not,” he chuckled, “when you’ve...beaten it into my head?”   
  
A knife found the underside of his jaw. “Any last words, Uldren?”   
  
“Two,” he replied, the energy from the Anchor exerting itself to such a point that he had to use his arms to support his current position. “First...it’s Varys. My name is Varys.”   
  
“...” That gnawing in the back of her mind that knew that her friend was right grew at the mention of his name--but not enough. “...Very well, ‘Varys’. If that’s what you want me to call you from now on while I’m ripping your throat out, I’ll honor it.”   
  
“Second…” Varys began a small, barely-stifled laugh once again. “...made you look.”   
  
_ BANG. _   
  
Amelie didn’t need to turn around to know the tell-tale sound of the Chaperone going off in Jarvan’s hand. The faintest  _ crack _ followed by the end of the low thrum that reverberated through the complex signaled to her before she even looked to see it that the Sentinel had reclaimed his trusty firearm, using it to destroy the Void Anchor and free himself. She dove out of the way of a second slug, raising her Bow to let off another Arrow, when a second  _ crack _ of a gun went off, striking her hand and dissipating the Void Bow as quickly as she had materialized it. The Guardian and Jarvan rose in tandem, their respective arms posed directly at the Huntress.

“Back off, Am,” Jarvan declared. His gaze moved slightly from her to Varys, a few feet behind her, trying desperately to snap his fingers and produce a flame.   
  
“Not a chance in hell,” she replied, her back still facing them as she reformed her Void Bow.   
  
“Amelie, this is wrong,” the Guardian yelled. “You can’t just--”   
  
“Just  _ what, _ ” the Huntress yelled back, “get myself some goddamn closure?!”

“This ain’t closure,” Jarvan retorted. “It’s torture. An’ if you hurt ‘is Ghost, it’s murder.”   
  
“It’s  _ justice, _ ” she hissed.   
  
“For what?!” the Guardian asked her. She turned to face him. “Does he even know what you wanna kill him for?! What you hate him for doing  _ before _ he ever became a Guardian?!”   
  
The Huntress’ jaw locked at the accusation.   
  
“Can’t letcha get ‘im, Am,” Jarvan said.   
  
Amelie sighed. “You want him?” she asked, taking her Bow in both hands at the riser. “Come get him.” She exerted a considerable force upon the riser, until the four Guardians heard a shrill  _ crack _ like the breaking of the stem of a glass as she severed the Bow in two. The moment she did so, the limbs of the Bow immediately began to straighten, sharpen and elongate, until the broken shafts of Bow were replaced with two glowing blades, chill with the cold entropy of Void Light. In kind, Jarvan stowed his shotgun, manifesting a Shield on his left arm.   
  
“Jarvan, tell me you’re gonna pass on a clean shot,” the Guardian muttered.   
  
“You ain’t known ‘er that long, kid,” he replied, wary to not remove his gaze from her for a second. “She’d never let you get a shot off.”   
  
“Wanna bet?” The Guardian straightened out his shot, but before he could aim down his sight, Amelie’s body became cloaked in a thin veil of Void--and disappeared.   
  
“Shit,” the Titan whispered. He immediately took off forward, stopping a foot from Varys before crossing his arms in front of him, concentrating Void Light in his Shield.   
  
“What’re you doing?!” the Guardian yelled.    
  
“Protecting Varys,” he replied. “Hold ‘er off, will ya?”   
  
“I don’t even know where she--”   
  
_ Air disturbance. Consistency: knives. Two meters. _

An instant’s warning allowed him just enough time to duck, as a single cleaving slice swept just overhead, the resulting energy output breaking her stealth cloak. The Guardian channeled the Arc through him once again, striking out with the Arc Blade to counter a second strike from her off-hand, before they both returned to a fighting stance.   
  
“Outta my way,” the Huntress growled.   
  
“First and last lesson’s where we’re going, right?” the Guardian replied. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”   
  
“I will fucking cleave you in half.”   
  
The Guardian smiled. “You wanna make a Dare on it?”

Amelie strode wordlessly toward her student, entering an exchange of blades that enraptured the two observing Guardians with its blinding speed. The Guardian immediately found himself on the backfoot; where his Arc Blade had a reach and slight speed advantage, her dual Void Blades meant twice as many attacks to block, dodge or parry as he himself could output. Furthermore, despite the storm that surged through his body and enhanced his speed, Amelie seemed more than capable of keeping up; where the Guardian’s Arc Light was enhancing his speed, the impact of his strikes, his reaction time, hers were learned. Every strike she made, every attack that hit air was one-hundred-percent Amelie.   
  
A few meters behind them, Jarvan’s Shield had grown to about twice its normal size. “Okay, it’s ready,” he grunted.   
  
Varys turned the Titan around to face him. “Jarvan, what the hell are you--”   
  
“It’s a Ward.” Jarvan lifted his crossed arms above his head, causing the Void Light to emanate outward, before breaking the form of his arms. In an instant, the Shield flattened outward, creating a perfect dome of Light to surround the duo.    
  
“I’m gonna go out there--” Jarvan staggered forward, falling to one knee before his friend. “--I’m gonna go out there and help the kid.” He put a hand on his fellow Awoken’s shoulder. “Now’d be a good time for you to shoot somethin’.”   
  
“Jarvan, I still don’t have a  _ gun-- _ ”   
  
“Sure, you do.” He reached out, lifting Varys’ right hand. “You remember what I told you, right?”   
  
“To focus,” he replied with a soft nod. “To focus my Light on a single point--”   
  
“On a single point, and put your emotion into it!” Jarvan smiled, wrestling to his feet. “Don’t think about makin’ the gun, imagine you already have the thing!”   
  
Varys’ fear slowly melded into resolve, and he gave his friend a second, more resolute nod. “I’ll try!”   
  
“Ain’t no ‘try’ about it, V!” He yelled, leaving the dome.   
  
In the meantime, the Guardian was losing ground quickly. One by one, Amelie tore through bits and pieces of his armor with every strike that he just couldn’t manage to evade, until he was abruptly stripped bare from the torso up. Fluids leaked from his arms, back, and torso--despite not being fully cognizant of the pain, the wetness of the ‘wounds’ evoked in him the feeling of bleeding--and despite the Arc Light that flowed through his body, he could feel the strain his injuries were placing on his body and its ability to keep up.   
  
“L-let’s make a Dare, Am,” the Guardian panted, the same smile as before still painting his face.   
  
“You’re not in a position to negotiate,” she posited coldly, sharpening her Blades against one another.   
  
“You go down…” He pointed weakly in her quarry’s direction. “...you leave him alone.”   
  
“Big thing to say from a guy who can barely move his arms.”   
  
“Yeah, yeah…” the Guardian winced as he raised his knife once more, channeling the Arc through it once again. “...but I dunno how you keep fallin’ for this stuff.”   
  
Amelie’s head swiveled backwards just in time to see the careening Void Shield headed towards her. Behind it, a weary Jarvan’s throwing arm stood suspended in midair. “Shit.” She quickly pivoted in the direction of the Shield, moving her body away while making a wide swing towards it, and the Guardian heard the grating sound of tearing metal for a split second as her Blade impacted the Shield from the side, cleanly severing it in two. Jarvan cursed under his breath at the sight, forming as strong of a protective aura as he could muster.   
  
“Fool me once,” she muttered.

“Fair ‘nough,” the Titan replied.

“You gonna move? Or do I have to blow you over?”   
  
“Heh…” Jarvan mustered a laugh. “...you’ve seen me come back from worse, Am.”

She looked back, towards her student, then back to her best friend. “What, you’re gonna tag team me? You can both barely stand.” She made a passing glance behind Jarvan at the Ward erected behind him. “That’s a pretty hefty waste of energy, Jarvan.”   
  
She lunged forward with one Blade, the Sentinel barely dodging as he formed yet another Shield. The Guardian made an advance with his Arc Blade, only to find the Huntress deftly parrying his blows with the Blade in her off-hand. Amelie navigated the two-fronted assault with the grace of a dancer juggling between two partners. A lightning-fast kick into the Guardian’s face knocked him to the ground for a brief moment, giving her the opportunity to focus her attacks on Jarvan; like with her student before her, she proceeded to overwhelm the battered Titan with more force than he could defend from, slowly cleaving his armor from his body until, as with his Exo counterpart, he was bare from the torso up.

Behind the action, Varys sat in meditative repose, drawing on the heat within him. After recovering from the Void Anchor, he was finally beginning to draw the Solar Light back to his hands. “Okay,” he whispered with a smile. “Now...a gun.” He held up his right hand, channeling the fire into it, focusing on the singular thought of a firearm--only to spawn a trio of flaming knives. “No, no, no,  _ gun, _ ” he hissed, focusing once again--producing six knives now instead of three.   
  
“Dammit, I don’t need knives, I need  _ bullets-- _ ”   
  
Varys’ eyes widened. Outside, he watched Jarvan and the Guardian exchange blows with his predator. The way with which his friend and new acquaintance used their constructs of Light simultaneously as offense and defense.  _ Not just weapons, _ he thought.  _ Instruments.  _

The Light wasn’t just a weapon. It was an instrument.  
  
 _He_ wasn’t just a weapon. _He_ was an instrument.  
  
Varys closed his eyes.  
  
“Weapon.”  
  
The Knives dissipated, but their heat remained; the fledgling Hunter opened his eyes to find that they had coalesced into six floating, glowing lights, no bigger than his fingertips. He smirked. _Bullets._  
  
“Now...instrument.”   
  
Immediately, the six orbs began to spin in his hand, and he could feel the faintest _click_ ing noise behind his head, like the shifting of a chamber.  
  
“Instrument,” he repeated. He recalled the words of his friend, and began to close his fingers. _Imagine it’s already there._ His pinky found something solid, then his ring, then his middle. _It’s always been there._ His thumb reached upwards, finding a small, hooked notch--a hammer. _Exactly when I’ve needed it._   
  
Finally, he rose, as his index found a trigger.  
  
Outside, Jarvan and the Guardian were on their last legs. The former had used the majority of his Light protecting Varys, and the latter was too wracked by injury to move. Jarvan reached forward for a weak left cross, only for the Huntress to impale him through the shoulder with one of her Void Blades--directly through the plasma scar he’d received from the Rifleman.

The scream roused Varys from his focus.  
  
 _CRACK._   
  
All three of their gazes turned with breakneck speed to the source of the noise, like the crack of a lasso and the firing of a revolver at once, as Varys exited the Ward. In his right hand lay a veritable supernova, a seething, blazing inferno in the shape of a pistol, which he raised slowly and leveled at Amelie.  
  
“Six shots,” the Crow-Master muttered to himself. “Six shots.”  
  
 _BANG._ Amelie attempted to deflect the shot in a similar manner to Jarvan’s Shield, only for it to obliterate the Void Blade on impact. Jarvan and the Guardian looked on, watching the weapon that flayed the armor from their bodies and destroyed near everything it touched was shattered like glass in the wake of Varys’ Light.

“Shit--”  _ BANG. _ Amelie didn’t have time to issue forth her Void Cloak, before the Gunslinger’s second shot ripped through her aura shielding like it was paper.   
  
“That’s--” Amelie was dumbstruck. She lifted her off-hand to level a Blade to her fellow Awoken, only to see that it, too, dissipated with the remainder of her Light aura. “You’re a Gun--”

_BANG._   
  
Amelie’s body didn’t even hit the ground. The third shot went straight through her head, vaporizing her body in a flash of Solar Light. Varys looked at the empty space where his tormentor once stood, recalling every death he suffered at her hand, and the unthinkable happened.  
  
Varys laughed. The smallest chuckle, crescendoing ever-upwards into this booming, resounding thing that echoed through the complex.  
  
“I...I did it,” he gasped through tears. “She’s gone. I did it.” He immediately looked to his friend’s tattered, wounded form. “Jarvan I did it, she’s finally dead--”  
  
“Not quite, _mon ami_.”  
  
In the space where Amelie once stood floated a single diamond. Black, with bright, blood-red detailing and sporting its ever-familiar cyan eye, her Ghost hung suspended in the place her head had been. In his periphery, Pulled Pork emerged from behind him, looking at him with a nervous expression.  
  
“...” Varys stared down Coeur with a chill winter gaze that could snuff out the fire in his hands. “...Right.”  
  
Jarvan looked wearily at his friend. “V, no.”  
  
“She’s not gonna stop, Jarvan,” he uttered.  
  
“She will. I’ll make ‘er. Just put down the--”  
  
 _BANG._ Varys’ fourth shot pierced through the Guardian’s chest, vaporizing him.  
  
“Sorry, Jarvan.”  
  
 _BANG._ The fifth went through Jarvan’s torso as well, and the Titan gave only a slight sigh as his body dissociated.   
  
Varys leveled the Golden Gun at the Huntress’ Ghost, his fear beginning to cross his face once again. Every time she killed him flashed behind his eyelids as he closed them, and his first instinct was to do to her what she refused to do to him. _End it. Free yourself. Free Jarvan._  
  
A female voice echoed, in the back of his mind. _Free me._  
  
Panicked, Varys immediately whirled around, letting off the final round of his Golden Gun with a resounding _BANG._ There was nothing there. As quickly as the words entered his psyche, they vanished, leaving an emptiness of sound that wrested further horror from the fledgling Hunter.  
  
Varys fell to his knees, facing the Ghosts of his friend, his foe and his newfound acquaintance, and began to cry.   
  
In his right hand, a gun remained, a hand cannon painted a dull, worn gray and bearing the softest engraving of a rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varys' new hand cannon, seemingly appearing from nowhere, is none other than the Rose.


	14. Face to Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If a fight between Guardians goes sideways, they can always count on their Ghosts for conflict resolution.

Four Guardians entered the cryo-stasis bay of a destroyed colony ship in the Blast.    
  
One remained.   
  
Varys sat in the far edge of the complex, gun in one hand, the other covering his face. In the center of the complex, Pulled Pork left his Guardian to convene with the Ghosts of the three defeated Guardians; Vekna, Jarvan’s; Coeur, Amelie’s; and Ty, belonging to the yet-unnamed Guardian.   
  
“Well,” Ty began, “I’d call this a Mexican standoff, but you guys know what the Collapse did to Mexico.”   
  
“I don’t think we’ve met,” Pulled Pork said. “I’m Pulled Pork. My friends call me Porky.”   
  
“Ty,” the Guardian’s Ghost stated with a nod.   
  
“Vekna,” a female voice declared from a Ghost in the shape of a Harpy, floating over the tattered remains of Jarvan’s armor.   
  
“Coeur,” a male French voice called from the Ghost hanging where Amelie stood.   
  
“Any chance we can settle this nicely?” Ty asked his counterparts.   
  
“No,” Coeur snapped.   
  
Pulled Pork chimed in. “I’d much prefer if we could just talk this out--”   
  
“If Amelie didn’t face exile for blowing you to pieces,  _ porc _ ,” Coeur interjected, “we would not be talking.”   
  
“Coeur,” Vekna chimed, “you know what happens if Amelie doesn’t stop this warpath she’s on.”

“There’s a part of her that doesn’t care.”   
  
“What do you mean, ‘what happens’?” Ty asked.   
  
Vekna turned to the Tyrant Shell. “You weren’t listening to Jarvan’s story?”   
  
“He didn’t finish.”   
  
“Well, when Jarvan and Amelie butted heads over Varys--”

“ _ Uldren, _ ” Coeur spat.

“ _ Varys, _ they made a deal. A Dare. That was the match she took you and the chrome-dome to.”

“Excuse me,” Porky interjected, “they made a  _ bet _ over my Guardian and I?”   
  
“ _ Oui. _ ”

“What for?!” he exclaimed.   
  
“He wins,” Couer stated, “she gets an hour alone with Uldren.”   
  
“What?!”   
  
“He  _ loses, _ ” Vekna added, “he gets to report Uldren to the Vanguard.”   
  
“Hang on,” the two derelict Ghosts chimed in tandem; it had been a considerably long time since Pulled Pork  _ or _ Ty had called the Tower home.   
  
Porky went first. “The Vanguard still doesn’t know he’s alive?”   
  
“Not a peep,” Vekna answered.   
  
“It would be tantamount to torture,  _ petit porc. _ ”   
  
“That’s not why and you know it, Coeur,” she said coldly.

“Wait,” Ty posited. “Why didn’t he just throw the match then, if all he had to do to keep her away from him was lose a stupid Crucible match?”   
  
“‘Cause it’s not a ‘stupid Crucible match’ to him.” Vekna looked upward, her Light forming a projection of an insignia; it depicted what seemed to be an ancient animal of sorts, with long, curved horns and a blunt snout. “Tex Mechanica,” she continued. “It’s the oldest Foundry in the City’s history. Some say its origins are pre-Collapse. Jarvan’s the first Guardian in a few decades to earn their sponsorship.”   
  
“Sponsorship?” Ty asked. “For Shaxx’ training exercises-turned-bloodsport fetishism?”   
  
“You’ve been gone a long time,  _ monsieur, _ ” Coeur stated. “Crucible has grown. It’s a form of entertainment for much of the City; a much-needed reprieve from the war the Guardians rage outside it.”   
  
“So what you’re saying,” Porky added, “is that Amelie forced him into a lose-lose situa--”   
  
“She  _ fucked  _ him, is what I’m saying,” Vekna growled.   
  
“So, what?” Ty looked between Vekna and Couer. “He figures he can, what? Win, keep his sponsorship, kill Amelie long enough to take Varys somewhere else?”   
  
“Seems that way,” Couer confirmed.   
  
“He had to know that wasn’t gonna be an option forever,” Pulled Pork said. “That eventually, either she’d find where he’d stashed him or Varys would get fed up and wanna take the fight to her--”   
  
“I’m still here, you know.” The four Ghosts turned in tandem in the direction of the end of the complex, to find Varys standing up, his face still wet from tears and his gun stowed in his pants for lack of a proper holster. He walked slowly, with a weary, staggered gait to meet the four Lights in the center of the room. “Or did you forget why you’re all floating there, in place of your Guardians.”   
  
The Ghosts were silent.   
  
“So Jarvan made a Dare with Amelie, intent on breaking it to save me.”   
  
“Seems that way,” Porky sighed.   
  
“So, what now, Coeur?” Vekna posited to the Huntress’ Ghost.   
  
“Now,” he uttered, “we revive them and watch them kill each other all over again, I guess.”   
  
“That seems excessive,” Pulled Pork argued.   
  
“Hang on,” Ty interjected, drawing the attention of the three accompanying Lights. “My Guardian just made a Dare with Amelie--”   
  
“Come on, that was not a Dare--”   
  
“I heard a Dare,” Vekna added.   
  
“She didn’t agree to it!”   
  
“She didn’t turn it down, either,” Porky opined.   
  
“...” Coeur could not convey with his simple lights an ample expression to portray his exasperation. “You are all serious.”    
  
Ty looked to Vekna, then to Pulled Pork, and they exchanged nods. “Yeah, pretty sure we’re serious.”    
  
“Your argument is that because your half-dead Guardian without even a  _ name _ made Amelie a Dare, she forfeits her right to pursue Uldren.”   
  
“ _ Varys _ ,” the Gunslinger and his little Light retorted, in tandem.   
  
“Whatever!”   
  
“Tell me something…” Varys stepped forward slightly. “...Coeur, was it?”   
  
“What do you want?”   
  
“Why doesn’t Amelie want my existence known to the Vanguard?”   
  
“...” The Ghost is silent.   
  
Vekna released the slightest giggle. “I can tell them, Coeur, if you don’t want to--”   
  
“I’ll do it.”   
  
“--if you’re  _ scared-- _ ”   
  
“ _ I said I’ll do it! _ ” he spat at his counterpart. Immediately, he began focusing his lights upward in a similar manner to the fashion in which Vekna did earlier. In his projection were shown five portraits; an Awoken, wielding a strangely-fashioned bow that swelled with electricity; an Exo, holding that same bow on his back; a human, seen leaving the Last City; another human, tracking a trail across the sands of Luna; and finally, a second Exo, face adorned with a vivid blue and a single blunted horn that made him vividly recognizable to the Ghosts as Cayde-6.   
  
“The position of Hunter Vanguard,” he began, “has always been decided by a Dare, typically between the current one and their proposed incumbent.” The projection began to focus on the first two portraits. “Tallulah Fairwind fell to an Ahamkara, and made her Dare to Caliban-8 shortly before she died.” Immediately, Tallulah’s image left focus in favor of the third. “Caliban’s Dare found Kauko Swiftriver taking up the mantle, before abruptly leaving the City, never to be heard from again.”    
  
Finally, the focus went to the latter two. “Andal Brask and Cayde-6 were good friends, and when a successor was to be named, they made a Dare over whom would take up the mantle. Cayde won, meaning Andal took the role...until he was killed in action.”   
  
“And Cayde took his place,” Porky added.   
  
“ _ Oui, petit porc. _ ” Coeur made a motion evoking that of a man shaking his head.   
  
“I assume there’s a point to this,” Varys interjected.   
  
“ _ Oui, petit connard, _ ” he continued, “and this is where things get problematic.”   
  
The projection began to focus exclusively on the image of Cayde-6, a visage which drew solemnity from the watching Ghosts, all except Ty. Varys’ eyes remained affixed to the image as Coeur continued to parse through terabytes of data on file related to the Hunter.   
  
“So I...I killed him.”   
  
“No,” Vekna snapped. “Uldren killed him. You’re not him. Not anymore.”   
  
“Semantics,” Amelie’s Ghost could be heard muttering under his breath, before a faint chime portrayed to the party that he’d located the file he was looking for. “Here’s where things get tricky.”   
  


Coeur activated the file, which immediately revealed itself to be a recording made by the former Hunter Vanguard himself:   
  
[This one's for any Hunter who kills me. Best guess: Marcus Ren? You realize you get my stuff now? ALL my stuff. INCLUDING the Hunter Vanguard gig. Yeah, congra-tu-lations, dummy.]   
  
Varys, Pulled Pork and Ty exuded a collective gasp.   
  
[That's what we call a Vanguard Dare. Sucks, doesn't it?]   
  
“You can’t be serious,” Varys said, a twinge of apprehension invading his otherwise cold tone.   
  


[OK, brace yourself for some advice, hotshot...]    
  
“ _ That _ is why Amelie wants you kept secret,  _ connard. _ ”   
  
Varys placed his hands back over his face. “What kind of fucking  _ madman _ \--”   
  
“Actually,” Vekna added, “that sounds  _ just _ like Cayde.”   
  
[One, know your people. Like, my Nessus scout, Quantis Rhee. I like to call her about once a moon, else she gets a little too much Night, not enough Stalker, you know...?]   
  
“Sounds like Amelie,” Varys said, a hint of his friend’s sarcasm leaking through which evoked a fair moment’s laughter from his audience, save Coeur.   
  
[Two, keep your weapons sharp. Your job's to watch everyone's back, which means no one's watching yours but you…]   
  
“Been there, done that,” the Gunslinger growled. “Thanks to this one--” he nonchalantly pointed at the spot where Amelie once stood-- “--I’ve had nothing to do but sharpen my weapons and watch my own back for nearly three months.”   
  
“Were it up to her, you’d still be in that bag,” Coeur added over the recording.   
  
“Okay,” Vekna added. “I think it’s time we bring them back.”   
  
“To  _ talk, _ right?” Ty asked.   
  
Pulled Pork, Ty, Vekna and Varys turned immediately to Coeur, who gave the softest, begrudging nod as the last of the recording played:   
  
[And three, start thinking now about what you want to do for your successor's Vanguard Dare. 'Cause trust me, kid - this gig will kill ya.]

\----------------------------------------------

Amelie, Jarvan and the Guardian were revived simultaneously. Without even taking a moment to recoup, the trio immediately checked for their firearms, pulling them and leveling them; Amelie’s SMG at Varys, Jarvan and the Guardian’s at Amelie.   
  
“ _ Merde, _ ” the Huntress’ Ghost muttered.   
  
“Lady, gents,” Pulled Pork immediately chimed in, placing himself in the center of the collective crossfire, “Let’s talk about this.”   
  
“Nothin’ to talk about,” Amelie said, coldly.   
  
“You’re right, Am,” Jarvan said. “There ain’t nothin’ to talk about. Drop the gun, or his next stop’s the Vanguard.   
  
Varys’ ears perked at the threat. “H-hang on a sec, Jarvan--”    
  
“You want ‘er off your back for good or not?”   
  
“Not like  _ that, _ Jarvan.”    
  
“Bullshit,” Amelie spat.   
  
“Wait a sec,” the Guardian cut in. “Why is it so important that he doesn’t--”   
  
“Cayde’s Dare,” Ty answered.   
  
“He killed Cayde-6 in his previous life,” Porky added.   
  
“Which, according to Cayde,” Vekna concluded, “means he rightfully becomes Hunter Vanguard.”   
  
“Which I don’t want,” Varys added. “If even  _ half _ the Guardians feel the same way about me that  _ she _ does, I don’t want anything to do with them, much less to be leading them.”   
  
The Guardian looked to Varys, then to Amelie, and formed a small smirk, stowing his firearm. “In that case, I think we’ve got a solution here.” He gently moved the Ghosts from the firing line, standing between the Huntress and her prey. “You--” he pointed to Amelie-- “--leave him alone, and everybody’s happy.”   
  
“I’m not,” she growled.   
  
“Would you be happier having him be the Hunter Vanguard?” Jarvan retorted.   
  
Suddenly, something began transmitting into the Guardian’s comms array. It came first from his left, causing him to immediately swivel away from the rest of the group, hand cannon waving at what he perceived to be the source of the noise.    
  
“What the hell is that--” He turned back around as an accompanying series of noises came into the right side of his comms array. It was no sound he’d ever heard before; a series of devices creating a litany of sounds combined to form a harmony that both terrified and soothed him.   
  
“Kid, you good?” Jarvan asked, too wary of the standoff between his two friends to turn his attention from them.

“Something’s...coming through my comms array.” After a minute or so, he stowed his gun, closing his eyes and relegating himself solely to listening.   
  
“Wh…” Varys’ gaze turned slowly to face him. “...what is it?”   
  
“I think it’s...music,” he replied. “Ty, can you…?”

Ty immediately broke formation with the other three Ghosts, rushing to his Guardian’s aid and performing yet another of his evaluations of the Exomind’s structural integrity. “Well, it’s not a hack. No malfunctions, still no DER… Wait.”   
  
“What do you mean, ‘wait’?”   
  
“You’ve got memories in here, Guardian.”   
  
Jarvan, Varys and Amelie collectively turned to face the Light. “How in the hell?” Jarvan asked.   
  
“It’s not uncommon for Exominds,” Vekna posited. “It’s usually not much; leftover documents, a photo, maybe a recording of some kind.”   
  
“Well, this one’s definitely a recording,” Ty continued, following it up by amplifying the transmission through his own frame. Together, the four Guardians listened to an almost somber harmony of what sounded like a synthetic approximation of a series of flutes, a melancholy that reverberated through the chests of the entire group--even more so when it began to be accompanied by a low, sweeping bassline and the soft, yet ever-present cadence of drums to accent it.   
  
“What...what triggered this, Ty?” the Guardian asked, enraptured.   
  
“My guess? Probably the Arc Light surging through your body for the first time.” Ty continued parsing through the Guardian’s memory, finding more files--counting the currently-playing recording, fourteen in total.   
  
Each of the three other Guardians in the room evoked different things from the music as it droned through the complex. 

Amelie saw every day she stood alone at Cayde’s memorial; every long night chasing cold leads through the wastes of the Reef left behind by what remained of her people; every fantasy that she’d ever had about avenging Sundance by putting lead through her murderer’s skull--and the hollow feeling it left behind, both in the Rifleman’s head and in her own. Worst of all, she saw her own face, covered in blood-- _ his _ blood--from the first day; she saw every fantasy she’d ever had about exacting her vengeance upon him, and that selfsame void that those actions bore within her.   
  
Jarvan saw the hospital ceiling; his first look at his previously-unmarred form after a plasma bolt laced with Dark Ether tore through his shoulder--an injury that, had it been a bullet, Ikora told him, may have tainted his Light, forever stunting his immortality. He saw the Dreaming City, and the somber face of Petra Venj as she told him just how few of his kind survived the Battle of Saturn, followed closely by the regal yet enigmatic visage of Queen Mara Sov as she lamented the fate of her people in the face of one cataclysm after another. He saw the slowly-growing void that brewed within his closest friend--and the reality that no action he could have taken would stop it.

Varys saw the Watchtower, a ubiquitous arch cast over the Dreaming City, and the creeping sense that he was leaving something important behind when he, Pulled Pork and his Crow left. He saw his own fear of the unknown, which led him to distrust and even threaten to impart violence upon his friends. He saw Jarvan’s hand, reaching out to help him--the first helping hand he’d ever known in this life--and recoiled in contemplation of what may have happened had he listened to his first instinct: to cut the Titan down and run for his life.   
  
“...Get out of here,” a female voice produced across the room.   
  
The first voice uttered in a few minutes brought Varys, Jarvan and the Guardian from their collective stupor, refocusing on its source: Amelie.   
  
“You heard me,” she whispered, her gaze an icy focus on the fledgling Gunslinger across from her.   
  
“Th-...” Varys was unsure of how to respond, save by calling Pulled Pork back to him. “I don’t...thank--”   
  
“Finish that sentence, and I come up with a sixty-seventh way to kill you.” Varys’ mouth shut immediately, just barely forming a smile as he and his Ghost transmatted out. 

The moment he did, she let her gun arm fall slack to her side, the submachine gun clattering to the ground. In kind, Jarvan placed his shotgun on the ground, walking forward to face her before slowly extending his arms outward. She looked at the gesture, then up at Jarvan with a face that finally, after nearly two years, concealed absolutely nothing--the face of a woman struggling to reconcile the feeling of defeat she felt for letting him go with the tacit understanding that was always there that what she had done was wrong-- and slowly returned the gesture, allowing her left arm to wrap around the Titan as he embraced her.   
  
The Guardian backed away from them, leaving them to their moment, and double-jumped up into the rafters where his mentor stood earlier. Her sniper rifle still lay on the floor, abandoned during the fight.    
  
“What was that, Ty?” he asked.   
  
“Music.  _ Old _ music. Pre-Golden Age old.”   
  
“Which dates it...how?”   
  
“At minimum? Seven hundred years.”   
  
“Holy shit,” he exclaimed under his breath.   
  
“Yeah. There’s more, too. A compilation of sorts, it looks like. That one’s number eleven.”   
  
“Hm.” The sound of it continued to reverberate through his psyche. “What’s it called?”   
  
Ty spoke the name, and it evoked a sense of something he couldn’t quite explain; an almost numb, tingling sensation that began atop his head and dripped like the first spring rain down through his extremities.   
  
“I like it,” he said.   
  
“Me, too,” Ty replied.    
  
“I think I’ll keep it,” he said. “The name, I mean.”   
  
Ty chuckled. “Seems a bit long,” he thought. “Plus nobody short of you, me, and maybe a few Cryptarchs would even know what the hell it is.”   
  
He laughed with his Ghost. “Probably right.” He let out a cathartic, yet exhausted sigh. “How’s VQ sound?”   
  
“VQ-7,” Ty said out loud. “Easy, unique enough. I dig it.”   
  
VQ smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for joining me through Act One of this story; I've had a wonderful time telling VQ's story, as well as those of my (and PinkRambo's) cast of supporting characters as they make their way through this world we all love.
> 
> It's not over yet. Next week comes an epilogue, and a taste of what is to come.


	15. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month has passed.
> 
> Our Guardians take stock of the events that have transpired thus far, with plans for the future in mind and machinations unknown being set in motion...

~One Month Later~   
  
Jarvan and Varys sat in a meadow, looking up gently at the vast colorations that arced and twisted and blended across the sky. While Jarvan’s face was one of nostalgic reverence, Varys’ was one of wonder; save for the brief time of his awakening, he hadn’t quite had the time to truly take in the utter beauty of the place--his home, according to his friend. With the help of his Crow, Jarvan took the time to recount for him the majority of the history of the Reefborn Awoken; the sovereignty of the Queen, Mara—his sister, or so his friend said; the revolt of the House of Wolves; the arrival of the Taken King and the resulting cataclysm; and finally, the second attack on the Awoken by the Taken.   
  
“Wait a sec,” Varys said. “A...dragon?”   
  
“Yyyyyup,” Jarvan replied. “A massive thing, my buddy tells me. Half a dozen arms and two dozen eyes and Light knows how many rows of teeth.”   
  
“And you said they eat what?  _ Wishes? _ ”

“Oh, yeah. Though accordin’ to legend, they almost never got that big. Ol’ girl’s probably had a couple centuries a’ feedin’ done to get nice an’ hearty.”

“So…” Varys turned in the grass to face his friend. “There’s a dragon. Named Riven. And it’s big as all hell, and it grants wishes to get stronger.”

“Yup.”

“And you’re saying this thing dragged me around like a meat puppet, trying to get me to free it—“

“Her.”

“Free  _ her _ , yeah, because another of these crazy Hive gods has it out for us?

“Good so far.”

“And now...what? She keeps comin’ back to life?”

“Seems that way. Whole place is stuck in a time loop.”

“And my sister, where’s she?”

“I honestly could not tell ya. Not even Petra knows. Don’t think anyone does.”

“...” Varys closed his eyes for a moment, his face turning back towards the warmth of the sky. “..I think I heard her.”

“Who, Mara?”   
  
“Riven.”   
  
Jarvan turned to face Varys now, a look of concern slowly beginning to furrow his brow. “When was this?”   
  
“At the complex. Back then.”   
  
“An’ ya never told me?”

“Didn’t know what to make of it till you just laid all this out for me. But yeah. I was about to shoot Coeur, when I heard this voice. A familiar one. All it said was ‘free me’. And it spooked me enough to make me let off my last shot.”

“Yeah, that’s a bit o’ the creepy bit. They call ‘er Riven of A Thousand Voices, ‘cause supposedly she can mimic the voices of people important to ya or somethin’ like that.”   
  
“Huh.” He tried to imagine it. “So, if we went to see her, I’d hear you?”   
  
“Could be me, could be VQ. Hell, could be Amelie for all I know. Shit ain’t exactly a science--” Suddenly, the two Guardians were interrupted by the  _ boom _ of a Sparrow speeding out from the gate to Rheasilvia. “Speakin’ of Amelie, here she comes.”

Amelie screeched to a stop a few feet from the Timeless Tereshkova, getting off of her Sparrow and storming toward the Sentinel. “You knew, didn’t you?”   
  
“Knew what, Am?” he asked, barely containing his expression.   
  
“You knew what Petra was offering for clearing out the Well, and knew I’d do it if it meant  _ him-- _ ” she pointed to Varys-- “--not getting involved.”   
  
“I mean, he’s barely been out an’ about a month, Am, I wasn’ about to just have ‘im go knockin’ Scorn heads this early.”   
  
“Yet you knew I wasn’t gonna use this,” she said coldly, holding up a golden prism about the size of her helmet.   
  
“Wh-what is that?” Varys asked the duo.   
  
“It’s an en--” Amelie’s eyes widened for a split second in realization, before narrowing once again on Jarvan before she once again began to storm off, this time in the direction of her former quarry. Varys flinched for a brief moment before she thrust the prism into his chest, making sure he held it in his hands before continuing her exasperated walk to her ship.   
  
“It’s yours, apparently,” she yelled from her cockpit, before closing it and taking off from the City.   
  
Varys looked down at the prism again, squinting his eyes in the face of the light it emitted. “Jarvan, what is this thing again?”   
  
“It’s an Engram,” he replied. “Big buncha programmable matter that makes somethin’ nice.”   
  
As though summoned by the word, Pulled Pork appeared immediately from behind Varys’ head, scanning the item. “Huh, this one’s coded already!” he exclaimed. “Amelie was right, wasn’t she?”   
  
“Just open the damned thing already,” the Sentinel laughed.   
  
Varys nodded to his Ghost, who briefly scanned the Engram before allowing it to coalesce properly. In an instant, the bright prism consolidated itself into the form of a helmet of sorts; a mask-like attachment fit over its visor, concealing his face and head, while the breathing apparatus of the helmet seemed to extend from beneath to lock in place at the underside. The mask itself was a pitch black, with an elongated, sharp nose that evoked that of a beak leading up to two large, beady scarlet eyes.   
  
“It’s a new helmet,” he muttered.   
  
“An’ more importantly, it’s a mask.” Jarvan smiled. “This way, you don’t hafta worry your head off about bein’ seen alla time.”   
  
Varys looked around for a brief moment, to ensure nobody was around, before removing his current helmet and putting on the new one. The breeze against the lower half of his face felt amazing. “How’s it look?”   
  
Jarvan watched as the moment it properly fastened into place, the eyes of the mask lit up. “Good and damn scary, man!” he laughed. “Gonna scare off a whole lotta crawlies with that thing on!”   
  
Varys mustered a soft chuckle. “So, why the new kit?”   
  
“Well, you an’ I both know VQ’s gonna hafta pick a fireteam soon.”   
  
The Gunslinger’s head turned on a swivel to face his friend. “Jarvan.”   
  
“An’ you an’ I both know Amelie ain’t joinin’ ‘im, ‘specially after that shit we pulled.”   
  


“Jarvan, don’t play with me.”   
  
“Vi’s always been a lone wolf, Liam’s still caught up in all his Iron business--”   
  
“Jarvan!” Varys cut him off. “You’re not playing with me, are you?”   
  
“You watch each other’s backs, you hear me?”   
  
Varys’ smile began to stretch slowly as the Titan continued. “Don’ let him jump into a moshpit without you bein’ there to bail ‘im out, and don’t get stupid enough to do the same without him. You both got good eyes, and Light knows you’re gonna hafta use ‘em--”   
  
Varys threw his arms into a hug. Jarvan was surprised by the gesture for a moment, but eventually gave a small laugh, returning it.   
  
“No more trainin’ wheels, V.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


“I’m sorry, pre-Golden Age  _ what now? _ ”

VQ and Ty, in the meantime, made a private appointment with the Tower’s Cryptarch--a reclusive, but kind and scholarly man by the name of Rahool--to discuss the nature of the files found in his memory. Ty was hesitant--even the Cryptarchy’s repositories of knowledge very rarely scratched the surface of pre-Golden Age humanity--but fortunately, Rahool was able to take a consult from his counterpart, a Crypto-Linguist in the European Dead Zone, and together they were able to properly analyze the files.   
  
“Latin,” Tyra Karn’s voice corrected the Hunter through a radio. “Predates the Golden Age by at least another thousand years or so. A wonder they even knew the language back then.”   
  
“Are all the files like that?” he asked.   
  
“Surprisingly enough, no,” Rahool added. “The rest of them are in English. Perhaps this one was of some particular importance for them to make its heading in another language.”

“Hm.” He turned to Ty for a moment, before returning his gaze to the radio. “What’s it mean?”   
  
“Seems to be a bit of a play on words,” Tyra explained. “Old phrase: ‘Quo Vadis’.” VQ and his Ghost exchanged a look, the second word evoking a bit of familiarity. “It means, ‘where are you going?’.”   
  
VQ’s eyes widened at the phrase. As he heard it, the song came to the forefront of his HUD once again, and he looked upon the two words with a fond pensiveness that caused him to recall every time he’d ever heard it. Liam Driver, Violet-5, Amelie, Jarvan…   
  
“Ty mentioned it being part of a compilation of some sort.”   
  
“Yes,” Tyra confirmed, “though I believe they called them albums back in those days. Collections of musical data, stored on a variety of then-cutting-edge data capture technology. This one, according to the files’ metadata, is called  _ Discovery. _ ”

“ _ Discovery, _ ” VQ repeated. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“Well, if that’s all,” Tyra concluded, “I have some proper Cryptarchy to return to. The Pyramids have given the Farm a good surge in foot-traffic.”

“Very well, Miss Karn,” Rahool said with an approving nod. “As always, a pleasure watching you work.”

“I’m only ever one call away, Rahool,” his counterpart said with a low laugh, before the signal dropped.

VQ immediately turned back to the Cryptarch. “Would you happen to know where else I could find more pre-Golden Age music? More albums like this?”

“Not too many, Guardian,” he replied with his hand gently holding his chin. “Before the Pyramids began arriving, I’d have said you may have a chance in Titan’s Arcology. Before Cayde’s death, perhaps to inquire upon him on a good day. Barring those...no, it’s been quarantined.”   
  
“Hell do you mean, ‘quarantined’?”   
  
“Zavala and the Vanguard are sometimes forced to sanction areas of the system off for Guardians’ safety. Titan, Io and Mercury are being cordoned soon. Venus was cordoned in the wake of the Red War, and with it the Ishtar Archives.”   
  
“Venus, huh.”    
  
“Yes. Beautiful place, the Ishtar Sink. Centuries of data still unparsed through.”   
  
“Well,” VQ sighed softly, “Thank you so much for your help, Master Rahool.” He rose from his chair, moving to shake the Cryptarch’s hand.

“Anytime, Hunter.” The Cryptarch smiled. “May your hunts be fruitful.”

VQ exited the Cryptarch’s chambers, returning to the hustle and bustle of the Tower Annex. He waved a gentle greeting to Ikora--she spent the vast majority of her time absorbed quite wholly into books too complex for most Guardians, yet somehow she never failed to take note and return the wave--before stopping at the Tower’s ramen shop, taking a seat and ordering his usual: extra-spicy tonkotsu.

Ty watched intently as VQ awaited his bowl of food in complete silence--a behavior he knew in spite of their short time together to mean the fledgling Hunter was deep in thought.    
  
“You realize we’re not allowed to go to Venus, right?”   
  
The young Guardian turned ever so slightly to face his Ghost, before his bowl of tonkotsu was finally slid across the table before him. “‘Course I do,” he muttered, barely hesitating before digging in.   
  
“Good,” Ty concluded, content to watch his Guardian finish his food. With the antics he and his ilk had gotten up to in weeks past, from the conflict involving Varys to the varying adventures they’d found themselves in following it, the calm banality of a simple bowl of ramen was something to enjoy, a welcome change of pace for the little Light.   
  
VQ finished the bowl rather quickly, taking it up to his lips and drinking of the remaining broth with fervor before turning back to his Ghost with a smile.   
  
“We weren’t allowed to be in the Plaguelands, either,” he said wryly.   
  
Ty loosed a heavy sigh as the Exo tossed a small bundle of Glimmer onto the table.   
  
“Chef! Another!”

\-----------------------------------------------------------

The Driver brothers stood in a sparring chamber at the Felwinter Peak compound. Both were armorless, bare from the torso up, varying degrees of cuts, bruises and burns crisscrossing their respective frames from the last hour of deathless combat training. Both Titans circled one another, breaths labored from injury and eyes squinting from light sensitivity; the past fifteen minutes had seen the torches illuminating their fight extinguished, leaving them blind save for the faint burning glow of their respective Wolfhowls.

“You tired?” Paul asked his brother, his stance concealing the severe bleeding of his right leg.   
  
“Not a chance,” Liam replied, holding his sword in a fencer’s stance that did its best not to betray his loss of feeling in his left arm. “Why?” he posited. “You scared?”   
  
Paul snickered at the accusation, their eyes and bodies in bated lockstep. Fire and lightning flew from the fingertips of the Iron Wolves, as they contemplated each other’s next moves. Who would make the first move? What would such a move be? After a long hour of relentless sparring without dying, whom among them would go down first--   
  
A loud knock reverberated through the chamber, causing the duo to immediately lower their blades to face their interloper. After a slow, creaking opening of the chamber door, the familiar silhouette of Shiro-4 became visible in the door frame.    
  
“Liam!” the Hunter yelled. “Assignment for ya.”   
  
The brothers stepped forward in tandem, their respective Ghosts beginning to heal them, when Shiro placed a hand on the elder’s shoulder.   
  
“Sorry, Paul,” he said. “Just Liam.”

The younger Driver turned to Paul with a perplexed expression. He gave Liam a brief shrug, accentuated by his Ghost's gradual repair of his injuries. "You need me to hold your hand?" he asked. "Go."

Liam scoffed, flipping him off before exiting the sparring chamber with Shiro.

"You know, those are more meant to be artifacts," Shiro posited as the two braced against the chill mountain air, the cold immediately causing a recoiling sensation through Liam. "Maybe to be used for rituals, emergencies, not for recreational sparring."

"Y'see, man--" Liam let out a loud howl against the winter blasting his bare form, before summoning his Ghost. "--Syd, whattaya waitin' for?! My armor--" a green-and-white shell coalesced in his hand, bathing him in its Light for a brief moment before his armor formed on his frame, insulating him against the cold. "--whoo, that's better. But like I was sayin' man, what's the point of a sword that sets shit on fire that doesn't go out if you're not gonna  _ use _ the thing?"

Shiro sighed, an acquiescent response that was nonetheless favorable to arguing with a Titan that the sword given to them in commemoration of their becoming the first of a new generation of Iron Lords wasn't to be used for sparring practice. Finally, the two reached the foot of the Iron Temple, where Shiro most commonly kept his post and apprised the would-be Young Wolves of their missions. There, the Hunter pulled a small file from the board behind him, presenting it to the Titan.   
  
"You're familiar with VQ-7, one of the newer Guardians," he began.

Liam fixated on the file, the question rousing him from stupor. "Sorry, V-what now?"

Shiro sighed again. "The Guardian that traipsed through here about a month or so ago. Stole my knife. Killed you."

"Killed-" Liam's memory suddenly came into focus.  _ Oh, right. The ruse _ . "Oh, he's got a name, finally!" he exclaimed. "Kinda a funny name, VQ, though, wonder if it means somethin'--"

"Saladin wants eyes on him."

"Wait, wha--" Liam's expression immediately flattened from aloof to attentive at the mention of Saladin's name. "What's Saladin want with him?"

"Just a pair of eyes. More about what he  _ doesn't  _ want."

"Uh-huh," Liam said, hands on his hips. "Which would be, again?"

"A Guardian's revived in the Plaguelands. Our house. Our stomping ground. He doesn't want another Felwinter incident."

"Uh- _ huh _ .” Liam gave his own sigh of exasperation at the name. “You gonna tell me who this Felwinter guy is one day?”   
  
“An asshole,” Shiro replied roughly.   
  
“Can’t be  _ that  _ much of an asshole, his statue’s right up there with the best of ‘em.”   
  
“And that we don’t talk about him should tell you just  _ how much _ of an asshole he is.”   
  
“Fair enough,” the Sunbreaker mumbled.   
  
“Keep an eye on him. Report anything suspect.”   
  
“Kill him if he looks at me funny?”   
  
Shiro laughed. Liam didn’t. “Strictly surveillance,” he chuckled. "Though I wouldn't object to you getting me my knife back."   
  
Liam’s expression was stern. “You never know with these guys.”   
  
“Does that mean you’re taking it?” Shiro asked.   
  
“Y’know,” Liam said, taking the file, “a question implies a choice.” He opened the file briefly, allowing Sydney to scan through the dossier before transmatting it away. “And it pisses me off when people like you confuse things like that.”

\---------------------------------------------------------

Gospel-9 rose from the water into a sprawling cave.

The liquid retained varying hues of yellow and blue, undoubtedly a combination of the radiation inherent to the planet's atmosphere and the natural erosion of the walls of the chasm itself. She looked beyond, regarding the myriad paths that carved through the cavern, where she could hear several whirring, spinning machinations just beyond where she could see.

"Where the hell is this--"

A loud  _ THUD _ roused her from her introspection, causing her to jump and whirl behind her to look upon the source of the noise. Another figure landed in the pool she rose from, a Titan by the build, which made her look up to find four more figures jumping off from an impossibly high cliff; she was unable to make out their features from the distance, only their auras, the interplay of Light across their frames portraying to her that these were Guardians.

Suddenly, she watched a figure step forward from what she thought was behind her; she whirled around to regard them, only to find a woman in Warlock's robes.  _ Her _ robes. She looked upon herself, perplexed--she'd never seen herself in a dive before--as the other four figures began to follow her, her sixfold wings lighting a path through the caves. As she followed them, their auras came into focus, and she recognized two in particular--the gentle chill breeze of Jarvan's Void Light, and the dry, arid pressure of Liam Driver's Solar aura.

She scoffed. "No way. No  _ way. _ " Her scoff evolved into full-breasted laughter. "Jarvan Tal and Liam Driver in a fireteam! Never thought I'd see the day."

She followed a short distance behind them, until the cavern revealed itself to be a sprawling labyrinth. Within it, several dazzling white lights danced through it, and the gentle mechanical noises that reverberated through the cave came into focus as belonging to them. Just as she was about to fly ahead to further survey the maze, however, she heard the impact of a seventh figure--along with the tell-tale burning aura of Solar Light.

Gospel, her vision-self, and the other five Guardians all turned to face the figure, as they came from behind the corner to reveal another Warlock. He stood before the group with twin swords in hand; one, an emblazoned Dawnblade in the shape of a claymore; the other, a solid but nonetheless blazing sword, serrated at its edge and housing a crimson crystal.   
  
Gospel recognized him. She opened her mouth to speak the name--   
  
\--when she rose from her chair with a start.   
  
“Lautlose?!” she gasped out.   
  
“How did you know?” Psalm asked, his eye pointed at the door. She rose to her feet, turning around--to see him.   
  
“...Lautlose,” she repeated.   
  
A message came into her comms array; in her daze, she’d forgotten his namesake. [ _ Master  _ Lautlose to you.] He immediately stood at attention, hands overtop one another as though holding a sword. [By the Praxic Fire.]

She scowled, begrudgingly returning the gesture. “What do you need from me,  _ Master _ Lautlose?”

  
He approached the Thanatonaut slowly, removing a single slip of paper from his robe and presenting it to her. She unfolded it to reveal a picture, depicting an empty, circular pedestal in what the sky revealed to be the Dreaming City. 

[The Forsaken Prince is missing.]   
  


For his lack of speech, she knew him well, better than most; his mere presence in her chambers was an accusation in and of itself. Doubtless he’d at the very least discovered Jarvan’s connection to the Guardian formerly known as Uldren Sov, and surmised that one of his greatest friends would yield further insight--even better if it was one of his former students. She looked up to meet the eyes of her mentor, a scornful look upon her face as she regarded the sentence.   
  
[What do you know.]   
  


\---------------------------------------------------------

The painting looked at him with its ever-so-slight, yet ever-present smile, just barely creasing her lips. No matter how many times he looked upon it, it never ceased to enrapture him with its beauty; likewise with the multitude of paintings, music, and ancient recording technologies that made up his massive collection of art. A short pace behind him, a song played on a near-thousand-year-old device, the faintest point of a needle scratching across grooved plastics to form the most exquisite melodies.  _ The last record player left in the Sol system _ , he fondly recalled being told by the Guardian who sold it to him.  _ Not  _ **_the_ ** _ Great Machine, but a great machine nonetheless. _ For the Guardian’s sake, he sincerely hoped she hadn’t lied to him--   
  
Three knocks pulled the broker from his reverence, drawing his gaze behind him to the entrance of his chambers. A disturbed growl rattled from his teeth; his people knew he was not to be interrupted while he was down here. Another three knocks echoed outward, this time reverberating with the hollow metal sound he knew to be from the armrest of his chair. He listened intently this time; they didn’t emanate the typical  _ clang _ of metal against metal that a knock from his guards would emit, and the hands were much smaller.   
  
“Who’s there,” he growled upwards through the entrance stairwell, only to hear the abrupt sound of a scratching record from the machine behind him. He finally turned full-circle to find an Awoken Guardian standing next to it, holding the record in her hands. A pained expression crossed his face as he contemplated her designs for the disc. She gave him a wry smile, dangling the record in two of her fingers before opening one of his many drawers, filing it away and removing a second record to place upon the track. Lowering the needle gave a small noise akin to a dead radio channel before music began to sound from it once again.   
  
“Spider,” the Awoken greeted him.   
  
“Amelie,” the Eliksni returned. “I didn’t hear you come in.”   
  
“Good,” she said, her smile returning. “Means I’ve still got it.” The dulcet tones of the man on the record set her eyes aflutter, her head gently swaying from side to side.    
  
“My guards?” he asked.

“I need a favor,” the Huntress said. “I’ve got a job needs doing, and I need it away from prying eyes.”   
  
“My  _ guards _ ,” the Spider repeated, his question turned to a growl.   
  


“Dead, obviously,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’ve got more. Or you’ll get more. You always do.”   
  
“...” He gave a scornful expression to the Guardian as he stepped forward slowly, and Amelie circled with him across the room until they had exchanged positions, her standing at the foot of the stairwell and him standing between her and his machine. “...Not wrong there,” he uttered. “But I’m afraid I don’t owe you anything, young Amelie.”   
  
“Oh?”

“Our deal was succinct,” the Eliksni continued. “My information for your closure. And unless I’m mistaken, you got more than your closure’s worth when you killed the Rifleman.”   
  
“Mm-hmm.”    
  
“You think you’re the only Guardian I traded information to? The entire Hunt for the Scorned Barons was on the back of  _ my _ data.  _ My _ contributions.”   
  
“Never said it wasn’t.”   
  
“Then why--”   
  
“Because, Spider,” Amelie sighed, “One could argue that you got much more out of our deals than we did.”   
  
“‘Our’?” he asked.   
  
“Between the Barons being dead, the Scorn run out of your turf, the Awoken being off your back, the Vanguard being in your personal debt--”   
  
“ _ Our? _ ” he repeated, his voice escalating as his patience rapidly began to drain from him.   
  
She turned around, making her way up the stairwell, knocking along the railway as an almost-playful invitation for the Eliksni broker to join her. He obliged, making his way slowly upward until his robotic lower limbs made the sharp  _ clang _ onto the metal floor. Around them were a half-dozen Fallen bodies in various degrees of mutilation, from severed limbs to decapitated heads to one entirely missing save for wisps of Void embers tumbling across the floor; behind them, three more Guardians flanked the corners of the room, respective arms aimed squarely at the broker.   
  
“Like I said, I need a favor,” she said. “ _ We _ need a favor.”   
  
“...” The Spider looked to the four before him, recognizing them almost immediately. The only thing bigger than his trove of old treasure, his vast riches or his list of enemies was the list of people that owed him. And among them, six names rose to the top of that list. “...Where’s Violet?”   
  
“Not with us on this one,” a male voice replied from behind him. He turned around quickly to find his chair descending over the entrance to his quarters, and the voice--an Exo in Warlock’s robes--sitting upon it, a sly smirk crossing his face.   
  
“...” The Spider growled once more. “...What do you need?”   
  
Amelie smiled. “A base of operations.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Apoc-9 sat in an isolated chamber, cracking code after code after entanglement. He looked down at the bottom-right of his screen to his log--Day 49, it read--then off about a foot further to his right, to the subject of his last month and a half of work: an oddly-shaped ovaloid structure, Vex in make, with an interesting concave shape that gave it a sense of buoyancy. It floated gently in a small pool of Radiolaria, the functions of which had been slaved twofold to the computer he was interacting with and his own brain as he continued his work. Just behind the windowed door, Lora, his partner, sat with a sniper rifle in her lap, leaning back against the secondary door that would allow any further ingress; the work Apoc was embroiled in was severely against protocol. And for good reason.   
  
Any kind of mind-to-mind interfacing with Vex technologies has its own degrees of risk--from brain damage to Vex Mind back-tracing to flat-out death--but interfacing with Radiolaria directly had its own set of more harrowing dangers. The sentient lifeblood of the machine race could consume matter at a rapid rate, corrupting it--or ‘converting’, as they would say--into cold robotic flesh, optimized for their use. Hence the use of a computer as a sort of middleman between the millions of nanomachines floating within the liquid and the Exomind that deigned to decipher their message--and the gun meant to blow his head off at the first sign of corruption.   
  
Apoc sighed as another web of entangled ciphers unraveled itself to reveal another microsecond of audio recording. The way his process normally worked was to wait until a code set was fully deciphered, then piece together the message bit by bit. But nearly fifty days into the hardest code he’s ever had to look at, his patience was razor-thin.   
  
He brought up his comms array. “Lora, I’m disengaging from the Mind Core for a bit.”   
  
Lora brought her trigger hand to her radio, clicking it. “Sure. Taking a break?”   
  
“Nah,” he grunted, sitting up in his chair. “Gonna start fitting audio bits together, if I can.”   
  
“Not how you usually do things.”   
  
“Yeah, but I’ve been at this thing for a month and change and I’ve only got--” His HUD flashed up the total code analysis from the past fifty days. “--maybe thirty percent of it deciphered.”   
  
“Damn.”   
  
“I’ve never seen code entangled like this. Let alone inside a fully-intact Mind Core. It feels like they wanted us to have it, but someone stopped them.” He turned,returning to the screen. “Give me the waveform timeline.” Immediately, the screen brought forth all the bits of audio he’s been able to work through, beginning to piece them together. “Way I’m thinkin’, I’ve been deciphering this thing linearly. If I can decipher what I’ve already got, I might be able to use that to help with the rest of it--”   
  
The computer suddenly flashed a completed waveform before his face, and he smiled. “Good. Looks like I’ve got a sentence up.”   
  


“Let’s hear it, then,” Lora replied, eager to know what could possibly be on here.   
  
[The creatures will reach the heart of the Vault. Once they Take--]   
  
The recording cut out; that was all he’d been able to decipher. The two Guardians turned towards each other, looks of abject horror on their faces.   
  
“Oh, fuck.”   
  
Apoc immediately hit a switch on the Radiolaria pool, running a strong current of electricity through it and killing the nanomachines before removing the Mind Core, and Lora disengaged the lock on the door so they could both leave. They raced across the annex, through the central plaza and down towards the hangar.

“No fucking way,” Lora said through labored pants.   
  
“Way,” Apoc replied, gripping the Mind Core in his hand for dear life. “How could we not have detected something like that--”   
  
“Vex might’ve concealed it,” she posited, “Darkness might’ve shrouded it. Hell, we coulda just not been paying enough attention since the Cabal almost dropped a spaceship on us.”   
  
Finally, the duo reached the Tower Hangar, immediately hooking a sharp left up the stairs and into Lakshmi’s chambers.   
  
“Ma’am,” Apoc exclaimed as he began to round the corner into the room. “It’s the Vault! The transmission’s coming from the Vault, ma--”

Lakshmi leaned to the side of her chair to scowl at the Guardians, as they immediately noticed a fourth figure in the room--the familiar royal purple visage and seething aura of Ikora Rey.   
  
She turned around slowly to face Apoc, a stern look melding anger and concern staring into him.   
  
“What. Transmission.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna thank all of you who've read this for coming this far with me! This is my first time uploading on a regular schedule, and it was a doozy! I found myself roller-coastering between having amazing chapter buffers to exhausting those buffers entire due to some pretty bad writer's block--but we made it through without a hitch! Woo!
> 
> I'm definitely not dropping this though; I've got some personal stuff going on (plus the release of Beyond Light is gonna have me AWOL for a while) but I plan to start bringing new chapters in after that! I'm gonna tentatively say January. (This also gives me an opportunity to actually give myself a consistent chapter buffer such that I don't feel frantic/desperate to wrap a chapter.)
> 
> Again, thank you so much for reading, and as always, your feedback is appreciated!


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